Laundry Day
by Zakiyah and DNash
Summary: **COMPLETE!** **And completely posted!!** An old friend drops by with a request for the explorers--a request it's already too late for them to refuse.
1. Rounds 1&2

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** 'Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's _The Lost World_' is the exclusive property of Coote/Hayes, New Line Television, and anyone else who has a stake in it. No copyright infringement is intended. Any characters you recognize here belong to them; the rest are our own creations.  
**Special Thanks: ** FiTanna gets the uber-crown once again for her full beta of this tale. Thanks also to Jaclyn and SunKrux who were with us from the start and hung in there through countless delays to get to the long-awaited ending. And thanks to Pam, who came in late but gave us some great suggestions.  
**Time:** Somewhere in the midst of Season 2.  
**Rating:** PG

**Round 1 - Zakiyah**

It was washday at the Treehouse, and everyone was lending a hand. Roxton was busily bringing bundles of dirty clothes and sheets from the Treehouse to the pond and hauling the wet clean clothes back to Marguerite, who hung them up to dry and made note of what needed mending. Veronica washed the clothes in the pond, and Malone was in charge of rinsing and wringing once Veronica deemed an article clean enough. Even Challenger helped by testing out his experimental "auto-washing tub" and latest soap substitute with a small load of the explorers' oldest and most expendable garments.

"You'll see. This will be a great time saver," Challenger beamed as he cranked the handle on his invention to get it started. The gears beneath ratcheted up with a loud series of clacks and clangs as the spring coiled tighter.

"I'm sure it will," Roxton smiled at the professor, although privately he had his doubts.

"Yeah, just as soon as it's blown up a couple of times," Malone muttered to Veronica, fighting to hide his grin.

"Not to mention destroyed at least half of the things he tests in it," Veronica snickered back.

"He'd better not – we don't have that many clothes to spare."

"Hm." Veronica gave him a half-quizzical, half-humorous look. "Between what stores we have from my parents' expedition and what you brought, we haven't done too badly – but maybe you should start making plans for wearing Zanga outfits, just in case." She laughed aloud at Malone's horrified look.

"What's so funny?" Challenger called over the racket of his invention.

"Oh, just talking about clothes," Malone shouted back, making shushing movements at Veronica, who continued to laugh at Malone's expression.

Challenger gave them an odd look, but he was too preoccupied with his invention to inquire further. "There, that should do it," he said, giving the crank one last turn and straightening up. "Now all I have to do is release this lever, and in a few minutes we should have clean clothes!"

He reached for the lever, but before he could pull it, Veronica suddenly raised a hand in warning. "Wait!"

"What is it?" the scientist asked irritably.

Veronica's face was contorting, and nearby Malone was turning pale. "Eugh!" Veronica cried, covering her face with one hand. 

**Round 2 - DNash**

"Good lord!" exclaimed Malone, choking on the foul smell that was suddenly rising from the pond. He gagged and stumbled back a step. His foot caught on a rock, and he sat down hard in the cold water.

Veronica would have laughed if she hadn't been trying so hard to control the nausea the swept over her. She dropped the blouse she was scrubbing and stumbled toward Ned who was just beginning to rise. One hand still over her mouth, she reached out the other and hauled Malone to his feet.

Challenger met them at the water's edge. He'd wisely tied a large handkerchief over his nose and mouth, leaving both hands free to help them out. "Here," he said, his voice slightly muffled by the cloth. "It's not so bad over here."

The three scrambled to where Challenger's new invention stood and the air was considerably fresher. All three took a moment to regain their breath.

Roxton approached the trio, an inquisitive look on his face. "What's going on?" he asked. Then the wind shifted and he caught a whiff of what had sent his compatriots gasping for air. He wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"It's coming from the pond," Veronica finally choked out. She glanced back over her shoulder toward the pool, and her eyes widened. It was no longer its usual clear blue color, but a murky reddish brown. "Marguerite's going to be mad." The three men eyed her curiously. "I left one of her blouses back there."

"Any idea what that smell is?" asked Malone. He'd finally gotten his breath back, but the vile scent seemed to cling to the insides of his nostrils. He sneezed.

Roxton looked at him. "Well, at the moment," he replied, "you."

The younger man looked up from where he sat on the green slope of ground. "Huh?" He took an experimental whiff and cringed. "Great," he muttered. "I'm wet, I stink, and our pool isn't going to make me or my clothes any cleaner."

"Good thing we have my auto-washing tub in that case," declared Challenger, not one to let the opportunity to tout his newest invention pass.

The others tried not to roll their eyes. If the thing worked it would make all their lives easier. If it didn'tat least they wouldn't be any worse off than they were now.

"That might clean the clothes," admitted Malone, "but I'm sure as hell not climbing in that thing myself." He rose and stood there, dripping and annoyed.

"Of course not." Challenger was genuinely surprised at the suggestion. "You're much too heavy for it. It would be damaged."

At that moment, an impatient Marguerite appeared from the direction of the Treehouse. "Anyone want to explain why you lot are all lolly-gagging while some of us" She glared at them and corrected herself. "_one_ of us is trying to get some laundry done? I'm waiting for you, you realize. I can't--" The dark-haired woman stopped her small tirade abruptly. Her eyes widened and she suddenly looked as if she bitten a persimmon. "My god, that smell! Ugh. Who died?"

Veronica was still staring in the direction of the pond. She pointed a lithe, graceful arm in the direction of the water. "He did."

_Continued in Round 3_


	2. Rounds 3&4

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG

**Round 3 – Zakiyah**

Stunned, the explorers stared at the swollen, bloated corpse bobbing in the now putrid water. Even with the terrible distortion in shape caused by decay, it was clear that in life the corpse had been humanoidand green and scaly.

"A lizardman! Here?" Malone wondered. "What on earth was he doing in our pond?"

"Apparently whatever he was doing, he wasn't doing it alone," Roxton drawled, his voice sounding strange as he tried not to breathe in through his nose. He gestured towards the pond, where another scaly corpse had bobbed to the surface next to the first one. It was followed almost immediately by anotherand then another.

"Great galloping guppies," Challenger breathed, forgetting the stench in his curiosity. "This is quite peculiar!"

"This is quite disgusting," Marguerite corrected him, still trying to cover her nose and mouth. "How on earth are we going to get them out of our pool and get rid of the stench?"

An instant later, Marguerite really wished she hadn't asked that question. Out in the middle of the pool, the first corpse abruptly _twitched_. Slowly, the head turned and raised, bringing what was left of its face towards the explorers. Marguerite gasped, feeling ill as the corpse stared at her. "D-did you see that???" she demanded.

"See what?" Malone asked, looking at her questioningly.

"That corpse just _moved_," Marguerite said, still staring. Out in the pool, the corpse flung an arm forward, seemingly pointing at the disturbed heiress.

Malone laughed. "Nice try, Marguerite." His laughter faded as a second corpse raised its head, also looking towards the explorers. "Uhthen again"

"What the hell?" Roxton exclaimed, reaching for his rifle.

"Oh nonsense," Challenger scoffed. "Yes they're moving, but it's just the natural action of the gases caused by the decomposition of the flesh." His voice remained confident despite the fact that all the corpses now had their heads turned towards the explorers. Several more limbs flailed as the bodies rapidly drifted towards them.

"I don't think so, Challenger," Veronica said softly as she started backing away from the pond. 

"What do you mean, child?" Challenger sputtered. "This is no time for superstition!"

"Superstition or not, those corpses are coming at us _against_ the current," Veronica snapped back. "Now I suggest we get back!"

"I'll do better than that," Roxton said, and brought his rifle up to his shoulder. Sighting carefully, he fired at the nearest corpse.

**Round 4 - DNash**

The dead lizardman stopped, and Roxton confidently aimed at another. Then the first corpse began moving toward them once more. "What the devil?" He refocused on the nearest attacker and fired again. This time he was rewarded with a wet thump as the corpse collapsed into the mud at the edge of the pond.

Unfortunately, there were several more close behind him. "I could use some help here," the hunter said through clenched teeth.

Challenger picked up the rifle that had been lying ready near his auto-washing tub while Roxton quickly reloaded. Marguerite pulled out her pistol and took aim, unloading three rounds into the nearest decaying creature, sending it to the ground. Malone, too, reached for his gun only to remember he'd left it in the Treehouse. He cursed internally; he should have learned by now that even something as benign as laundry wasn't safe to do unarmed.

Veronica realized the reporter's predicament and stepped between him and the lizardmen, her knife drawn and poised to throw. "Get back!" she shouted at everyone, giving Malone an encouraging shove. 

He stumbled and almost managed to keep his footing. Staggering and slipping in the damp grass he finally fell, his elbow hitting the tub with a resounding crack. His yelp of pain was drowned out by the noise that suddenly erupted from the tub. 

Startled, everyone took a split second to glance toward the soundincluding the decaying lizardmen. The animate corpses began to shake, gobbets of putrefying flesh falling from them as they shook. One by one, they fell and were still.

The adventurers stood in stunned silence, the only sound the racket of the tub. 

Roxton was the first to look away from the gruesome sight. "Challenger!" he shouted. The older man caught the sound of his name and looked over at him. Roxton pointed to the tub. "Turn that thing off!"

Challenger nodded, grabbed the lever on the tub, and pulled. The machine thunked to a halt, leaving the valley in heavy silence. No birds or insects filled the sudden gap. They had all hidden or fled, scared off by the clamor.

"What the hell was that all about?" demanded Marguerite, finally turning from the pond and holstering her gun.

Any answer was delayed by Veronica's exclamation. "Malone!"

The young man was just sitting up beside the tub, cradling one arm against his chest. Veronica tucked her knife away and knelt beside him.

"I'm all right," he said, although his expression belied his words. He climbed to his feet, leaning on the blonde's offered arm. "What happened?"

"That's what I want to know," said Marguerite.

"I think we should discuss this back at the Treehouse," suggested Veronica, giving the heaped, decaying bodies of the lizardmen a wary look. "We don't know what animated them, and we don't know what stopped them. I say we take cover before anything has the chance to wake them up again. And the stench is bound to draw scavengers."

"If we're lucky," Challenger said, drawing puzzled looks from his companions. "That's not the normal smell of death. I wouldn't count on scavengers to clean up this particular mess."

"Lovely," snarled Marguerite. "And what do you propose we do about it?"

"I propose we listen to Veronica. We can discuss this back at the Treehouse."

"Works for me," put in Malone. He was taking slow deliberate breaths, trying to ignore the pain still slicing through his arm. His face was pale, and Veronica looked at him anxiously.

"Let's go," she said.

__

Continued in Round 5 


	3. Round 5

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG

**Round 5 – Zakiyah**

"Wait," Challenger said, looking anxiously at his invention. "We must take the auto-washing tub back with us!"

"George, is that really necessary?" Marguerite snapped. "Nothing is going to come within miles of that thing after the racket it made. If we take back anything at all, we should bring back what clothes haven't been ruined by the contaminated water." She scowled fiercely at the pond and the bit of formerly white fabric floating near its edge. "Why is it that it's always _my_ blouses that get ruined?"

"I can think of worse things," Roxton quipped, drawing a dark scowl from the heiress.

"We can't leave it behind!" Challenger protested. "It would take weeks to rebuildand besides, it might have been the vibrations from the tub that caused" He stopped, his cheeks turning red.

"Caused what, George?" Marguerite asked with poisoned sweetness.

"Uhcaused whatever phenomenon that gave the _appearance_ of animation to the corpses to halt," the scientist finished, his chin set stubbornly.

Veronica intervened before Marguerite and Challenger could continue their argument. She knew the two of them could be at it all day, and she wanted to get back to the Treehouse as quickly as possible. Malone's pallor was not abating. "Look, we can drain the tub and load it with the clothes. Now stop arguing and let's get moving!"

It didn't take long to drain Challenger's invention and load it with clothes that either hadn't been washed yet or had been rinsed and wrung out before the water had changed. 

"It's going to take two people to carry it," Challenger fussed.

"Hardly surprising, as it took two people to carry it down here," Roxton replied dryly. He'd been the one to help Challenger bring the invention to the pond, but in the current situation he didn't want to relinquish his rifle or impair his ability to fire at a moment's notice. "Sorry George, but I'm going to take point, and I'm afraid poor Ned there isn't in any shape to help out."

"Sorry," the reporter gasped, still cradling his arm. "But if you give me your pistol, I can at least help guard."

"So I'm afraid it's up to one of the ladies. Any volunteers?" Roxton raised a sardonic eyebrow in Marguerite's direction, as Challenger handed Malone the gun.

"Yes," Marguerite spoke up, causing everyone to blink in momentary surprise, "to take the rearguard." She pulled her pistol back out of its holster and only then responded to Veronica's irritated glare. "Hey, it's only logical! No offense, but I really doubt you want to get close enough to stick a knife into one of those things, should they return."

"You have a point," Veronica admitted after a moment. She reluctantly moved to take the other end of the auto-washing tub. 

They set off, Roxton in the lead. Despite the relatively slow pace dictated by the weight and awkwardness of the auto-washing tub, Malone had difficulty keeping up. Roxton, Veronica, and Challenger drew further and further ahead, while Marguerite kept close by Malone, alternately scanning the jungle for any signs of threat and shooting irritated looks at the injured reporter. Ned held a pistol in one hand, but he was also using that hand to support his injured elbow. 

_The idiot's more likely to shoot himself than to be of any help if we're attacked_, Marguerite thought derisively. "Maybe you should put that away and concentrate on holding your arm still," she suggested.

Malone scowled. "I'm fine," he insisted, "and it's better if we're both armed."

Marguerite shrugged at his stubborn refusal to admit the obvious. "Suit yourself. Just trying to be helpful."

At some level, Malone knew the sharp-tongued woman was in her own way actually trying to look out for him, but the pain he was in led him to lash out at her instead. "Don't. It's not natural."

She inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring as her eyes narrowed. "Damn right it's not," she hissed after a moment. "Just look what it gets me." Marguerite took a deep breath and controlled her rage. Now was not the time to be distracted by snot-nosed reporters who had more hair than sense.

"Marguerite" Malone started, already regretting his uncharacteristic bit of temper despite his continued pain.

"Shut up and keep walking," Marguerite snarled. 

Seeing the anger still evident on her face, Malone decided to obey. He'd apologize later.

Ahead on the trail, Roxton neared the gate in the electric fence. He spared a moment to glance behind him before reaching to open it. He frowned when he saw how far behind Marguerite and Malone were, but at least they were in sight. "I'd better go back to help them," he muttered.

"Wait, John. Help us get this into the elevator first," Challenger requested. 

Remembering what a pain it had been to get the empty device into the elevator before, and knowing Marguerite and Malone weren't that far behind, Roxton agreed. "All right." Shooting the straggling pair one last glance, he helped Veronica and Challenger negotiate the gate and assisted them to the elevator. Getting the unwieldy contraption into the elevator took all of their efforts, and by the time they succeeded Roxton found himself boxed in. "Great," he grumbled.

"I'll go get them," Veronica volunteered, but before she could step out, the elevator abruptly started upwards. 

"What the hell?" the hunter exclaimed.

"Veronica, did you?" Challenger started to ask as the elevator made its slow ascent to the Treehouse.

"No! Did you?"

"I don't think so," Challenger replied, a puzzled look on his face. "Perhaps one of us activated the mechanism accidentally?"

"Perhaps – or maybe it's something else," Veronica replied grimly, drawing her knife. 

Blocked in by the auto-washing tub, Roxton couldn't bring the rifle to bear, so he drew his one pistol instead and aimed it for the elevator opening. _Fine time to choose to leave the shoulder holsters at home,_ he chided himself as the elevator climbed the final few feet to the Treehouse. 

The lift jerked to a halt, and the three occupants peered out cautiously. No one was in sight, but Roxton and Veronica did not relax.

"Perhaps it was just a freak of the mechanism," Challenger offered uncertainly.

"Why Professor, that's not a very nice way to greet an old friend," a familiar, sardonic voice drawled.

Rage twisted Veronica's face into a ferocious snarl, and she sprang from the elevator, looking around wildly. "Tribune!" she snapped as she spotted the lizardman seated comfortably on one of the main room's chairs. "What are you doing here?!?"

The lizard gave her a deliberately cool look even as the two men barreled out of the elevator. The combination of Challenger dropping his end of the auto-washing tub and Roxton vaulting over the contraption caused the bulky invention to fall over halfway out of the lift, adding to the commotion. "Why, I'm here to warn you, of course."

Roxton opened his mouth to demand more information, then froze as shots rang out from the forest floor below, followed by a cry of pain.

_Continued in Round 6_


	4. Round 6

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 6 - DNash**

Immediately Roxton was moving again. "Help me get this damn thing out of the way!" he ordered. He and Challenger worked to shift the auto-washing tub from the elevator. In its half-in/half-out state, the auto-washing tub had jammed in the entrance, making the elevator inoperable.

Veronica shot an angry glare at their visitor and hurried to the window. Below and just outside the fence she spotted Malone and Marguerite. The cry of pain had been Ned's. He was the ground again; she couldn't tell if he'd been hurt anew or had simply fallen. She saw him fumble with his good hand for his pistol and guessed the latter. Meantime, Marguerite was standing her ground, firing at the approaching figures.

"Dammit!" Veronica cursed. "More of those zombie lizardmen! Roxton!" She turned and caught the hunter's eye. He and Challenger were still fighting with the tub.

Roxton looked at Tribune. "I don't suppose you'd care to help?" he snarled.

Tribune smiled. "And pass up the chance to watch you two try it? Really, there are so few opportunities to enjoy quality entertainment." He sat back on the make-shift sofa and made himself comfortable.

On the ground, Marguerite and Malone were nearly surrounded. Ned was still struggling to keep upright, hold his gun steady, and not move his injured arm.

"Malone, get up!" spat the heiress, her fear making her even more snappish than usual. "I'm running out of bullets." She aimed and pulled the trigger once more.

Nothing.

"Correction." She holstered the weapon and grabbed Malone's out of his hand.

The reporter cried out as the sudden jerk caused him to lose his balance and fall back against the hard ground, jarring his elbow further. He bit his tongue to keep from cursing the dark-haired woman. Instead he decided he'd forget all about apologizing for his earlier behavior.

The heiress managed to fell two or three more of the decaying lizardmen before Ned's pistol, too, was empty. She shoved the weapon into her belt and turned to pull Malone to his feet.

A loud shot rang out from overhead. The nearest lizardman paused and slowly fell.

"Move!" shouted Roxton from above, bringing his rifle to bear on another target.

"Come on, Malone," said Marguerite. She'd gotten him to his feet and draped his good arm over her shoulders, but that was all she could do. The young man was failing fast, overcome by the pain shooting through his injured arm. He stumbled and fell, taking the heiress down with him.

"Ned!" shouted Veronica. She turned and glared at Challenger. "Haven't you got that thing out of the way yet?"

"If we couldn't do it with two men" the inventor began. It didn't stop him from trying on his own, however. 

Veronica hurried over to offer what help she could. "Sorry, Challenger," she grunted as they tried to shift the heavy machine.

Roxton quickly reloaded his rifle. Despite his best effort, the corpses were nearly on top of Marguerite and Malone.

"Oh this is too, too amusing!" exclaimed Tribune with glee. His smile faded when Roxton turned his rifle on him.

"Help them. Now," he ordered with a nod of his head toward his struggling companions in the lift.

"You lot are so tiresome," sighed the lizardman, rising. "I don't know why I continue to aid you when all I ever get in return is threats and contempt. Move aside." He brushed Veronica aside and grabbed the tub. It was the work of seconds for him and Challenger to remove it from the elevator. Veronica quickly moved in and prepped the lift to descend.

"Let's go!"

Challenger grabbed a rifle and was only a step behind her when Roxton spoke.

"It's too late. They've got them."

"All the more reason to go after them now!" insisted Veronica. "Are you coming?"

"If I may interject a word?" Tribune had resumed his place on the sofa, long, scaled arms stretched across its back.

"What?" snapped the blonde angrily.

"I simply thought you would be interested in knowing what you're facing."

"You know what those things were?"

"So do you. They're dead lizardmen that have been reanimated, just as you suspect."

Challenger's eyes widened, but he quickly controlled his reaction. He didn't want the others to see his surpriseor belief. "So you say," he replied, careful to keep a tone of skepticism in his voice. "What else can you tell us about them?"

"They're only the vanguard of a new army being created by myreplacement." Tribune spoke the last word distastefully. He was once again the _deposed_ leader of the lizardmen, and he didn't like anything reminding him of it. "I have a plan to stop him."

There was a brief pause as the humans waited for him to continue.

Finally, the lizardman sighed like a long-suffering martyr. "Must I say it?"

"Yes," said Roxton.

"Come, come, John. Your friends' lives are at stake. Do you really want to waste precious time by forcing me to beg?"

Veronica made the decision for them all. "No. We'll help you. Now tell us what you know."

*****

"Malone?" It was a harsh whisper. "Malone?" Marguerite tried again.

The reporter groaned.

"Good. You're awake. Can you sit up?" She put a hand under his good arm, trying to lever him into a sitting position.

"Aagh!" he exclaimed. He immediately cradled his damaged elbow with the opposite arm. Marguerite steadied him, allowing him to lean on her in order to remain upright. Malone sucked in air through his teeth, fighting the blackness that ringed his vision. "God, that hurts."

"I know. Here." She eased him back against the stone wall. "I'll see if there's anything here I can use to splint your arm."

It was dim in the cell, the only light coming from small, barred windows high in one wall. She shifted through the straw and other rubbish that cluttered the ground. Her pawing about stirred up a small nest of mice that ran skittering for a grate in the far corner. The heiress stifled a startled gasp and continued her search.

"Where are we?" asked Malone. He didn't really care, but it was something to keep his mind off the pain.

"I'm not sure. Those_things_knocked us both out. Well, they knocked me out. You were already out cold."

Malone was sure there was some biting response he could have made to the heiress's sarcastic remark, but he couldn't think of one. "How long have we been here?"

"It was light when they grabbed us, and it's light now. Not too long, I'd guess."

"Unless we were unconscious all night."

She shot him a glare he didn't see. Marguerite was actually glad. The young man looked awful. He was sitting up against the wall, his legs out in front of him and his arm cradled against his belly. His eyes were shut and ringed with dark circles made prominent by his pallor.

"Here," she said more gently. "I found some sticks. We can make a splint." She brought the sticks over and set them next to him. He didn't move. "Malone? _Malone?_" Ned started. "Stay awake." 

Marguerite was unbuckling her belt. Again Malone felt like he was missing an opportunity to comment, but he couldn't focus enough to come up with the words. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on his arm. It was swollen and felt hot to the touch. _That can't be good,_ she thought. "Can you straighten it?"

Ned shook his head.

"Great," the heiress said acidly.

"I didn't do this on purpose," the reporter argued weakly. He was trying hard to stay focused, stay awake, but the pain was numbing every other sense and he just wanted to fall into the blackness to escape it.

Marguerite's features softened. "I know." She glared at the sticks she'd found. "I don't think these are going to help. I don't know as much about this sort of thing as Challenger, but I think you've broken your elbow." She thought quickly. "Here." She removed both her belt and her gun belt; the guns were long gone, taken by the zombies that had brought them here. She slipped the holster off, then buckled one to the other.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a sling. Lean forward. Come on, just a little will do." Ned leaned forward from the wall. He gritted his teeth against the pain as the heiress slipped the belt behind him and over his good shoulder. "Lean back carefully," she ordered.

Marguerite wrapped one end of the doubled belt around the wrist of his injured arm, then brought the end together with the second buckle. "Almost done," she informed the reporter with unusual compassion. Next she reached for his own belt and undid it.

This time, Ned was hurting enough it didn't even occur to him he was missing yet another golden opportunity.

"Lean forward again," Marguerite ordered.

"Isn't there aneasier wayto do this?"

"Probably, but I can't think of one." She removed his belt then reached around him, buckling it around his chest and upper arm to secure the injured limb against his torso. 

It was an awkward maneuver getting it around his back and over the injured arm while keeping the sling and his good arm free. Malone was sweating by the end of it. He strained to keep from screaming or passing out. He briefly considered doing both. Finally, she was done, and he leaned back once more. He took a deep breath, carefully let it out. "Thanks," he said.

Marguerite was eyeing the door. Shadows moved in the crack of light at its base. "Don't thank me yet."

_Continued in Round 7_


	5. Round 7

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 7 – Zakiyah**

Even as she spoke, the door was flung open, the hinges squealing in protest. The sudden increase in brightness made both explorers squint, fighting to see.

"You! On your feet!" a voice barked from the doorway.

Marguerite rose to her feet in one swift move, knowing Malone was in no condition to stand. "Why? Who are you? What are we doing here?" she shrilled, allowing her temper full rein. The figures in the doorway stepped closer, and her eyes finally adjusted. _Lizardmen. Of course. At least these ones are alive._

"You are the prisoners of His Glorious Excellency, Cantus the Magnificent, commander of the living and the dead," the first lizardman intoned perfunctorily. "As such, you will not speak until given leave to do so."

"And what does 'his glorious excellency' want with us?" Marguerite fired back, ignoring his admonishment.

The second lizardman snorted, either amused or irritated – it was difficult to read his alien features. "From the scientist, Cantus requires the secret of the exploding powder you divulged to his predecessor, Tribune. From youwell, you're a female. You'll do well enough, once you're properly dressed and no longer reek of the dead."

"Oh no, not again. I can't" Malone mumbled. He'd been mistaken for Challenger last time he'd encountered the lizardmen, and he couldn't make gunpowder any better now than he could then.

"He can't do anything with that arm in the state it's in," Marguerite snapped hurriedly before Malone could confess his ignorance – or his identity. _Malone, shut up or pass out!_ she raged inwardly, giving him a meaningful glare. She hoped he wasn't too out of it to miss it. _Leave the lying to me!_

"What nonsense is this? Injured? You lie!" the first lizardman snarled, a hint of panic in his voice. Marguerite's eyes narrowed at the implication of that fear.

"Your monsters broke his arm when they brought us here," Marguerite lied blithely as she watched his reactions closely. "He's not going to be able to work any experiments for a month or more without help. He can't even stand because of the pain."

"Ow," Malone groaned helpfully. He wasn't sure what Marguerite was up to, but he didn't have any better ideas. His groan turned into a cry of pain as the other lizardman reached down and shook his shoulder, jarring his arm.

Marguerite lunged forward, her nebulous plans forgotten for the moment in the face of Malone's agony. "You idiot! Leave him alone!"

"Be silent!" the first lizardman roared and backhanded her, sending her flying into the wall. She crumpled to the ground and lay motionless.

"Marguerite!" Malone croaked, dizzy with suffering. The dark-haired woman didn't move.

"She wasn't lying, Lassus. The male is definitely injured – and now, thanks to your actions, so is the female." The second lizardman glared at his companion in disgust. 

"Stupid humans – so fragile," Lassus grumbled defensively. 

"Which is why we were supposed to be careful. What do you think Cantus will say if he finds out neither human is fit enough to be useful? Bad enough the zombies knocked them out during their capture – that at least wasn't our fault. But I doubt this one could answer even the simplest question in the state he's in, much less create the powder – and now thanks to you the female can't answer any questions either. Shall I inform the commander of why this is? I'm sure Cantus is waiting on his report."

Malone ignored the conversation going on around him, more concerned about Marguerite's continued stillness. He tried to move towards her, only to sink back against the wall as darkness threatened to overcome his senses. He concentrated on breathing, hoping the pain would subside enough to allow him to move.

Lassus turned pale. "No, Scaldus!"

On the ground, Marguerite continued to hold still, trying to ignore various aches. She'd seen the blow coming soon enough to relax into it, preventing it from knocking her out, but she'd been unable to avoid the collision with the wall. The combination of blows had left her momentarily stunned. Now it looked like she might be able to turn her "unconsciousness" into an advantage. Certainly the conversation was enlightening. She breathed shallowly and listened for all she was worth, wishing she dared open her eyes.

Scaldus snorted. "No, of course not. And if I didn't think he'd kill both of us for this, I wouldn't hesitate. Fortunately for you, I have no desire to become one of Cantus's undead warriors."

"What do we do?" Lassus whined.

Scaldus looked down at Malone again, eyeing Marguerite's improvised sling. "We get the healer in here to tend that arm, and then send some of the slaves to get him cleaned up. You take the woman to the women's quarters and see that she's tended to and made presentable. I'll think of something to tell the commander."

"Yes, Scaldus. Thank you," Lassus said humbly, moving to pick up Marguerite's body from the ground. He lifted her over his shoulder with little effort despite the dead weight of her slack form. "I won't forget your mercy and cleverness."

"No!" Malone protested weakly as Lassus turned to leave the cell with Marguerite. Despite being flung over Lassus's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, the heiress still showed no signs of consciousness. Her hair and arms dangled limply down past the lizardman's waist like some obscene human cape. Malone couldn't just sit by and let his friend be dragged away tototo who knew what!

Not that Malone had much of a say in the matter. The other lizardman put a heavy hand on his good shoulder, effectively pinning him down as the lizardman carrying Marguerite disappeared from view. "That's enough out of you," the lizard hissed ferociously. "Just because we need you in one piece doesn't mean you should push your luck."

Malone glared at him as best as he could, then goggled in surprise as the lizardman distinctly winked at him. "Huh?" he mumbled, completely confused.

The hand on his shoulder tightened briefly. "You heard what I said," the lizardman growled, even as he brought his other hand up to hold one finger over his lips – an obvious gesture for silence. In total opposition to his harsh voice and threatening words, the lizardman winked again and gave him a quick smile.

"Uh, okay," Malone mumbled, befuddled.

"That's better," the lizardman nodded. "Just do what I tell you and everything will be fine."

*****

"So you're telling us that this Cantus fellow can raise the dead?" Roxton asked Tribune again even as he continued to pack weapons and supplies. He didn't want to waste a moment; once they had enough information, they needed to hit the trail. The memory of turning from threatening Tribune only to see the zombies disappear into the jungle, leaving no sign of his friends, burned in his mind's eye. _They must have knocked Marguerite out or we'd have heard her long after we couldn't see them_, he mused, bitter humor warring with the cold knowledge of his failure to protect her. She'd been the one doing the protecting, staying with Malone despite the fact she could have easily made it back behind the electric fence without him. _She's a fighter. Even after they grabbed her, she'd have been fighting them all the way_. The fact that she hadn't been screaming and cursing only increased his worry. Every minute was precious. 

"In a matter of speaking, yes," Tribune's voice brought Roxton's attention back to the sardonic lizardman. 

"Sounds like black magic," Challenger scoffed, "but of course there's no such thing. There has to be a scientific explanation."

If Tribune had possessed eyebrows, he would have raised them. "Leaving aside the question of, ah, magic, it's precisely a 'science' answer I'm looking for, because it seemed to me like a 'science' problem."

Everyone stopped to stare at the lizardman. "What?" Roxton asked finally.

"It's why I came to you. From what I was able to observe of Cantus's methods, what he's doing looks far more like what I've seen of your 'science' than any magic I've ever seen."

"Can science raise the dead?" Veronica asked Challenger, a bewildered look on her normally confident face.

"Of course not," Challenger replied, but with less confidence than usual.

"Only temporarily," Tribune answered at the same time.

Challenger gave him a curious look. "What do you mean by that?"

Tribune shrugged eloquently. "What I said of course. Whatever Cantus is doing, it only works for so long. The bodies deteriorate, and eventually they stop working. It happens faster if they aren't fed regularly."

"That does it. Dead men definitely don't need food," Challenger muttered to himself.

The lizardman ignored the scientist, caught up in the enjoyment of showing off, even if it was for a lesser species. "I imagine that's why there were so few of them when they attacked the Treehouse. Their living commanders must have forgotten to feed them." He tsked. "So careless. But Cantus really has no idea how to pick a good commander. He killed most of those first thing."

"Oh, there were more of them," Veronica interjected, glad of a chance to contradict the arrogant lizard. "We ran into another bunch at the pond."

"Why Veronica, you astound me," Tribune said mockingly, covering his own surprise. "However did you contrive to escape? No one else has found a way to even slow them down. They're quite determined. They stop for nothing once they've been set to a task. You must be more resourceful than I'd thought." He smiled at them. "I knew I was right to come here."

The three explorers suddenly looked at each other, and then over to the auto-washing tub lying abandoned next to the elevator.

*****

Marguerite cautiously opened her eyes a fraction after she felt herself hoisted over Lassus's shoulder. From her position she couldn't see much, but she caught a glimpse of Malone as Lassus turned. He was still sitting up, protesting and obviously distressed as Scaldus kept him down with one hand. _Sorry, Ned,_ she apologized inwardly,_ but we stand a better chance if one of us gets out of this cell, and it looks like this is our best bet. I just hope you can keep out of trouble long enough for me to figure out a way to get us out of here._

She kept her eyes open slightly as she was carried through what appeared to be a small prison area and out into a courtyard. There seemed to be very few people about, and the majority of those she saw were humans, not lizards. Without exception, everyone looked frightened – or like they were trying not to show what they felt. The whole atmosphere set off warning bells in Marguerite's mind, and she had to fight not to tense up in any way. Still, she refused to close her eyes again, not wanting to miss any possible advantage that might help her escape.

They passed into another building, and here Marguerite saw a few women dressed in fine gauzy clothes. She recognized the kind of concubine outfit she'd been given once before, the first time they'd encountered the lizard society. The women scurried out of Lassus's way, keeping their heads down. Only one dared approach him, a beautiful woman with long straight blond hair and sharp eyes. Marguerite felt instinctively wary.

"How may I help you, my lord?" the woman asked quietly as Lassus carried his burden into a small bedchamber. Sensing other watchers and guessing that her ride was almost at an end, Marguerite lowered her eyelids the remaining fraction, resigned to relying entirely on her other senses until it was safer.

Lassus slid Marguerite off of his shoulder and laid her carelessly on the bed, then turned to the other woman. "This woman is to be kept isolated from the others," Lassus huffed pompously. "Make sure she has clean water and suitable clothes when she wakes – and that she uses both. Send a runner to my commander when she is presentable."

"Yes, my lord."

"Do not speak to her, or allow anyone else to do so."

"Yes, my lord."

"Good," Lassus grunted. With one last glare at the woman on the bed, he turned and left the room. Marguerite could hear his heavy footsteps fading in the distance. 

The room was silent for a moment after he left, and then Marguerite heard several other light footfalls, accompanied by a waft of floral scents. "Who is she?" an unknown female voice asked.

"Is she hurt?" a gentle feminine voice asked.

"She's beautiful," another female voice said, not sounding pleased about it.

"What strange clothes!" still another light female voice marveled.

"It's none of our concern," the blonde woman's voice said sharply. "Doreta, you're about the same size; bring her one of your outfits to wear. The dark-rose colored one; it should suit her coloring. Geia, bring rose-scented water in a basin; we'll match color and scent. Caola, fetch an extra comb; she'll need to do something about her hair when she wakes. Sennia, look her over quickly and see if she's likely to need more than rest to recover. Now move!"

Marguerite forced herself to remain limp as unseen hands felt her brow and head, touched her throat, and started to unbutton her blouse. "Never mind that," the blonde's voice snapped.

"She has a bump on her head, and a few bruises and scrapes. I should put ointment on her cheek, or it'll bruise up badly for sure. She might have other injuries," the gentle voice said, and Marguerite tagged the voice as Sennia. "Should I not look?"

"No, there isn't time."

"Yes, Marina." Marguerite added Marina's name to the image she carried of the blonde woman.

Marguerite kept still as she heard the other women return and scurry around the room, but no further information came her way. At last she heard all of them leave, followed by the sound of a door closing and a lock being turned. "Now stay away from this door," she heard Marina's voice, muffled by the door. "We'll check on her again after we return. Now hurry and" Marina's voice was lost as the woman moved away.

After waiting several more minutes, Marguerite cautiously cracked an eyelid. Surreptitiously she scanned the small room. It was opulently outfitted and quite secure, with one tiny barred window and a heavy wooden door. She sighed and allowed herself to relax a trifle. _Good thing Marina didn't allow Sennia to check me over,_ she thought grimly. _It would have been hard to explain why I had Lassus's knife up my sleeve_. The lizardman had never noticed her theft of his belt knife as they left the prison. _Well, I suppose I won't learn any more just lying hereand I don't feel like having an audience when I get dressed. Particularly not when I'm hiding the knife!_

Rising from the bed, Marguerite first examined the door–solid, locked, and judging from the break in the light, barred on the outside to boot. She didn't have anything with her that would pick the clunky metal lock, either. Giving it up as a bad job, she took advantage of the rose-water and the comb, finding a small brass mirror on one wall. Turning to the clothes, she raised an eyebrow at their scanty nature. _Covers more than Veronica's outfitbut not by much_, she thought ruefully, but there was no help for it. Stripping quickly, she put on the cropped, sleeveless halter vest that ended just below her breasts and the flowing skirt whose "waistband" rested so low on her hips that even Marguerite felt scandalized. Still, it was obviously designed to fit that way and was in no danger of slipping, fitting snugly around her hips and securing with three hooks. _At least the skirt reaches down below my knees!_ Finding a place to hide the knife was no easy task, but Marguerite used two of the many hair ribbons left with the comb to strap it to the inside of her thigh. Slipping on the delicate sandals that matched the outfit, she realized there was nothing left for her to dobut wait.

_Continued in Round 8_


	6. Round 8

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 8 - DNash**

*****

This time when Malone came to, he was no longer in the cell. He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the bright light streaming in through the window. 

What little there was to remember came flooding back. A healer had been brought to the cell. He'd made a quick examination of Malone's injured arm then dosed the reporter with a foul tasting liquid. Malone was actually glad when he'd felt the anesthetic in the concoction take effect. This time when he'd slipped into unconsciousness, it had been an easy, comforting thing.

He turned his head to one side then the other, trying to figure out where he was. To his left, a number of empty cots were lined up along the wall parallel to his own. To the right he saw a door, closed and presumably locked from the outside. In the corner were shelves filled with boxes and bottles of all shapes and sizes.

"Infirmary," Ned muttered as realization struck him. He tried to sit up, but a weight held him down. His arm had been treatedsomehow. He hadn't a clue what the lizardman healer had done, but his arm was wrapped tightly and secured to his body in much the same manner Marguerite had done. This time, however, it was managed with a bit more finesse. Best of all, the pain was no longer overwhelming. It was little more than a dull throb that traveled from his shoulder to his fingers. It wasn't pleasant, but it was certainly an improvement.

Carefully, he used his undamaged arm to lever himself up. He swung his legs over the side of the low cot. Another glance around found his shirt—worse for wear but intact—on a nearby chair. He reached for it and had to use that arm to keep from falling over.

_Whatever they gave me must still be in my system,_ he thought as the dizziness passed. Slowly, he reached again for his shirt and this time managed to pick it up without mishap.

That was when the door to the infirmary opened.

*****

Tribune chuckled condescendingly. "Do you really expect me to believe you used thatcontraption to defeat the zombies? Absurd."

"We never said that," argued Challenger. He was mildly annoyed at having to explain all this to the lizardman. First, he simply didn't trust Tribune. Second, the inventor didn't like the lizardman's tone. Third, he still didn't really believe this whole nonsense about Cantus being able to raise the dead—and through science, no less. "We're simply providing you with facts."

"Which is more than you usually share with us," put in Veronica impatiently.

"My dear child," Tribune said, barely sparing the blonde a glance, "it's rude to interrupt." He returned his attention to Challenger. "I never claimed to be a scientist, but I find your assertiondifficult to support."

"We aren't _asserting_ anything," the inventor reiterated. "The machine was turned on and the zombies stopped. That is a fact. Whether there is a correlation between the two has yet to be determined."

"And while you two talk about it, Malone and Marguerite are God knows where!" snapped Veronica. "And we know Ned was hurt."

This time Tribune gave her his full attention. His expression made the young woman uncomfortable, but she fought the feeling and faced down his gaze. "_I_ know where they are."

Roxton beat Veronica to the punch. "Then why the hell didn't you say so?" he demanded.

"We haven't yet agreed to any terms," the lizardman said, and smiled.

"We don't have time for this," said Roxton. The packs and weapons were ready. _He_ was ready. The longer they waited, the more danger their friends were in. He drew his pistol and pointed it directly at the lizardman's smiling face.

Tribune clicked his tongue. "Come now, John. I thought you were more sensible than that. I have information; you have information. This is the foundation of something I like to call an exchange of said information." He was patronizing the hunter, and Roxton knew it. He cocked the weapon.

"We can find them without your help."

"Perhaps. But how will you get to them? They're undoubtedly being guarded. By living or dead, I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine on that point. Either way, you'll need help getting them out."

"And you need our help getting to Cantus."

"Much better, John. You do learn quickly."

_Continued in Round 9_


	7. Round 9

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 9 – Zakiyah**

Roxton favored Tribune with a wintry smile, his eyes glinting dangerously. "I learn more quickly than you think, Tribune. If you want Cantus so badly – and I have no doubt that you do – you'll come along with us, agreement or no. And since you're only likely to stick to your part of any agreement as long as you think it suits your purpose, I'm not even going to bother." The smile disappeared from his face, leaving angry determination. "Shall we go?" he growled.

Tribune's eyes widened slightly even as he continued to smile. "My, my, John, I might just have to revise my opinion of you," he murmured, then sighed theatrically. "Oh, very well. I shall accompany you, if only for the chance to see the ever-charming Marguerite."

Roxton knew Tribune was deliberately baiting him, but he couldn't help the flash of rage that surged through him as Tribune leeringly mentioned Marguerite's name. Clenching his teeth until he thought they might crack, he managed to wrestle his temper down. "Good," he snarled. "You can carry the tub."

"What?" Challenger asked, startled.

"It'll be the fastest way," Veronica said, nodding at Roxton. "After all, Tribune is the strongest of us – as you've said time and again," she added, directing the last at Tribune himself before turning back to the others. "Now let's move." _Hang on, Ned, we're coming!_

_Even Tribune won't be able to run while carrying my auto-washing tub,_ Challenger realized, thinking furiously. _I wish I had more time, more data, to better understand what we're facing – but I'll simply have to improvise as we proceed._ "Agreed. The sooner we get going, the better." He favored Tribune with a glare. "Mind you don't damage the machinery." 

The three humans took some satisfaction in the look of disgust on Tribune's face as he bent to lift the tub. "The things I do in the name of friendship and goodwill," he muttered loudly.

*****

Three figures quickly entered the infirmary, swiftly closing the door behind them. "Oh good, he's awake," one of them said, and Malone recognized the healer who had tended him in the cell. 

"Excellent – that will make things much simpler," the second person said. To Malone's surprise, he was a human. "Can you stand?" The question was directed to Malone.

"Wait – let me check that arm first," the healer objected. 

"Do it quickly, Younus," the third person said. Malone wasn't sure, but he thought it was the guard who had winked at him in the cell. The two lizardmen approached Malone's cot, while the human remained near the door, obviously listening for any sounds from the corridor outside. The guard turned his attention to Malone as the healer ran a light hand over the wrappings on Malone's arm. "Do you remember me?"

"Yes," Malone said briefly, doing his best to mask his confusion and continued lightheadedness.

"Good. I wasn't sure how addled your wits were in the cell. Do you think you can walk?"

"Why?" Malone asked, not wanting to give a direct answer. _What is going on here?_ he wondered, then shook his head as he realized he wasn't likely to find out unless he started asking questions. "What's going on here?"

"We're getting you out of here. I need you to get some information to Tribune; he should have reached your friends by now."

"What?" Malone asked, bewildered.

"By the way, what's your name?" the lizardman asked.

"Huh? You know it. Challenger. Professor George Edward Challenger," Malone lied. Confused or not, this was one thing he knew to lie about, thanks to Marguerite's quick thinking in the cell. He'd been too dazed then to remember, but now he recalled all too well what was likely to happen if he was exposed as an "ordinary" human instead of a valuable asset. 

The lizardman laughed briefly. "Not likely. Cantus, Lassus and their ilk might not be able to tell one human from another, but I'm not that stupid. I couldn't do anything about the first attack, but I made sure to delay the second until after Challenger was safely out of the way. You're one of his companions."

"I am not!" Malone denied, somewhat incoherently. "You're mistaken," he clarified. 

"Scaldus, you're going about this entirely the wrong way," the human by the door said, obviously listening to their conversation as well as for any sounds outside the door. "You're confusing him. You stand guard and I'll explain." 

"Gladly," Scaldus muttered. To Malone's increased astonishment, he showed no signs of resentment about taking direction from the human, merely exchanging places with him. 

The human crouched down by Malone's cot as the healer continued his work. "I'm Demitri," he introduced himself. "Younus, Scaldus, and I are all part of the resistance to Cantus."

"Humans and lizardmen working together?" Even with the remainder of the drugs in his system, Malone was skeptical.

"Always thought Tribune was a little crazy for trying it," the healer grumbled. "Not to mention it opened the door for Cantus."

"What???" Malone didn't bother to hide his confusion this time. _Tribune??? Figures that lizard would be involved with this somehow!_ Malone did not have fond memories of his encounters with the arrogant lizardman.

Demitri scowled at Younus before returning his attention to Malone. "Look, we don't have time to go into a detailed history here. The short version is that the Empire has fallen to pieces. Tribune still leads part of it, but he needed the support of the humans as well as the lizards under his rule in order to do it. We relocated here after the capital was destroyed, and he started a new way of doing things, even including some humans amongst his advisors."

Malone blinked in surprise. "Tribune listening to humans?"

"Well, at least giving one or two of us a chance to speak, and things were much better for us overall. Unfortunately, a lot of the lizards decided they didn't like the new order, and they supported Cantus when he made his takeover bid. Tribune escaped, but Cantus became the new leader. His madness only became really apparent after that." Demitri's expression grew grim. "He turned all those lizardmen who had opposed him into the first batch of his zombie warriors, and he's continued to decimate the lizard population."

"He's even killed females," Younus hissed. At Malone's inquiring look, Younus explained further. "Unlike you humans, we have about twenty males born for every female birth. Only a madman would kill a female, unless it was a matter of treason."

Malone grimaced as he remembered Centuria's gruesome demise. _I suppose what she did fits the definition of treasonbut still!_

Demitri rolled his eyes at the digression and continued. "Meanwhile, he's been forcing most of the humans to mine metal for weapons and forge them in huge numbers. He intends to attack the other parts of what used to be the Empire. So now most of us are working together, human and lizard, to stop him before he destroys us all."

"Which is where you come in," Scaldus added from his position near the door. "Within the last few weeks Cantus has finally had to turn to human laborers for some of his zombie-making activities. We've been able to find out a little bit about what he's doing. Tribune already knows some of it, but not all that we know now."

"It could be important in helping your scientist figure out how to stop him," Younus added, finally finishing his examination of Malone's arm. He turned to Demitri and started wrapping bandages around the human's arm.

"You brought me here just to send me back?" Malone asked incredulously.

"No – well, not entirely. Cantus really did want to capture your scientist to make gunpowder for his zombies. You were just convenient," Demitri admitted. 

Up until now, Malone had mostly believed his story, but something in Demitri's manner set his journalistic instincts tingling. _He's not telling me everything. I wonder what he's holding back? Whatever it is, I don't think I'm going to like it._ Malone's mind raced, trying to think of a leading question, then was distracted as Demitri continued his story.

"We've already got several volunteers down in the cells, and I'll be taking your place here. We'll be shuffled around by lizardmen on our side, and Younus will tell Cantus that you're too badly injured to be questioned for the time being." Demitri grinned at the astonished reporter. "It should be at least a day before you're missed, and by that time we'll have rigged a convincing 'escape'."

Younus stopped wrapping Demitri's arm long enough to reach into a pouch hanging from his side. He withdrew a small packet of papers and handed them to Malone. "Give these to Tribune. He'll be able to translate them for your scientist."

_Translate_ Up until now, Malone had been carried along by the tide of words and the lingering effects of the anesthetic. That one word jolted him back to reality, helping clear the last bit of fogginess from his brain. "Wait, wait – what about Marguerite?"

Scaldus, Younus and Demitri exchanged glances that set off all of the alarm bells in Malone's head. "Your female companion?" Younus asked.

"Yes. I can't leave here without her."

"I'm afraid you'll have to," Demitri contradicted. "We can't break her out, too. Unlike you, she's quitenoticeable."

"Too risky," Younus added.

"Don't worry – we'll make sure she stays safe," Scaldus chimed in, obviously meaning to be reassuring.

Malone's eyes narrowed slightly as he put the pieces together. _Hostage. They're keeping her here to make sure I do what they ask – and to make sure the others come here after us, probably – and maybe even other reasons. Whatever, they're not going to let her go._ "How do I know she's safe now?" he demanded.

An awkward silence descended over the room. "You'll just have to trust us," Demitri said at last.

"Trust you? Seems to me you're asking me to trust you about an awful lot of things," Malone said scornfully, thinking fast. "How do I know anything you've said is true? This could all be one big trap."

"Isn't the fact that we're freeing you enough?" Scaldus growled irritably.

"No. That could just be part of the setup."

Younus chuckled suddenly. "You're not as stupid as you look, human."

"Look, what we've told you is true. We can't prove anything else to you, but we need you to go to Tribune and let him know what we've found out," Demitri said exasperatedly. 

Malone took a deep breath. "Fine – but as long as I'm going to Tribune and Challenger to tell them about the zombies, I might as well bring my own observations."

"What?" The three conspirators looked at each other and then at Malone, blank incomprehension on human and lizard faces.

"You said that humans were being used as laborers with the zombies, right?"

Demitri's eyes widened. "You don't mean"

"I do. Sneak me in there for an hour, and if what you've said is true, I'll take back my own observations to Challenger as well as whatever you've written to Tribune, and trust you to keep Marguerite safe while I'm doing it." He sat back slightly, wishing he could fold his arms over his chest. He settled for looking resolute. "That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

Scaldus laughed mockingly. "You're in no position to bargain, human. We can send anyone and leave you here to Cantus's mercies. You'll wind up wishing he could turn humans into zombies, I'm sure."

"You can send anyone – but 'anyone' isn't going to be able to convince Challenger that you're on the up-and-up," Malone pointed out. He was gambling everything on this, hoping his instincts were right and they really did need him, whatever their true reasons. _If they're telling the truthif they're telling the truth, I have to get to Challenger, Marguerite or no. I'll just have to hope she can hold out until I can return with the others._ He bit back a wry smile even as guilt at the thought of leaving her behind – even temporarily – gnawed at him. _Of course, this is Marguerite we're talking about!_

After a long, tense moment, Demitri sighed and nodded his head. "It's risky, but all right. Just remember that if you're caught, it's not just your head that's likely to roll."

"I'll try to remember that." Malone stood, hoping he hadn't just bitten off more than he could chew.

*****

Marguerite sighed inwardly as the door to her luxurious prison opened at last. _About time! I hate waiting!_ A number of women silently filed inside, closing the door after them. Marina was one of them, but it was a tall woman in blue who stepped towards her. "Are you feeling better?" she asked, tucking a strand of her long, cinnamon-brown hair behind her ear as she scrutinized her face. 

Marguerite recognized the voice from before. _This must be Sennia_. "I think so," Marguerite replied guardedly, deciding it was best to play harmless and stupid for the moment. "Where is this place? Why am I here?"

A curvaceous curly-haired blonde in green looked from Marguerite to Marina, an expression of dubious disgust on her elfin face. "Are you sure this is the right one, Marina?" she demanded bluntly.

Marina nodded. "I'm sure, Eula. Scaldus had his orders, and she definitely matches the description. This is Marguerite."

Marguerite was startled enough to let some of her surprise show, but quickly covered for it, all of her wits on alert. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she said coolly.

Eula's face relaxed into a gamine grin. "That's better," she muttered almost inaudibly.

"Of course not," Marina agreed, ignoring Eula, "but you soon will. I have a message for you from Tribune. Welcome to the conspiracy."

_Continued in Round 10_


	8. Round 10

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 10 - DNash**

Surprise warred with skepticism, but it was curiosity that ended the fight. "I beg your pardon?" said Marguerite.

Quickly, the heiress was given an abbreviated version of the story that—unbeknownst to her—Malone had received not minutes before.

This time, skepticism was in the forefront as she crossed her arms over her bare midriff and scowled at the band of women before her. "Do you seriously expect me to believe this load of garbage?" she demanded. "While I can accept that Tribune was overthrown _again_, your claim that he's actually teamed up with humans is absurd."

"Why?" asked Sennia. "He's teamed up with you and your friends more than once."

"That's hardly comparable to allowing human advisors on his staff!" snapped Marguerite. "What you're saying is patently ridiculous. What are _you_ smirking at?" she demanded then, turning on the blonde woman Marina had called Eula.

"I like you," Eula said plainly. "Someone so rude must be trustworthy."

The dark-haired heiress gave her a caustic look and said acidly, "Thank you."

Unruffled, the pert blonde just continued to smirk. Marguerite gave her up for a dead end and turned back to the other women. "What do you want from me?"

"Tribune said we could rely on your intelligence," Sennia said. 

"He said you were almost as cunning as lizard," put in Eula sardonically.

Marguerite snorted derisively. "Well _that_ certainly sounds like Tribune," she muttered. "But why should I believe you?"

Marina and Sennia exchanged a look before the blonde finally gave a small shrug. She turned back to Marguerite. "All our lives depend on it."

*****

Tribune stumbled and nearly lost his footing. The large tree root jutted out at an unexpected angle, and the heavy tub he carried was off-setting his center of balance. Not that he would have admitted as much to his human companions.

"All right there, Tribune?" Roxton asked. The words were solicitous enough, but the tone spoke volumes in contradiction.

"Fine," the lizardman said, attempting his usual sly smile. It fell a little short, but Roxton decided not to comment. It wouldn't do to antagonize the person carrying the one defense they knew would work against Cantus's army of zombies.

The hunter puzzled on the phenomenon. Assuming there was truly a scientific explanation for these 'living dead' as Challenger insisted there must be, it stood to reason there was a scientific explanation why the auto-washing tub had stopped them in their tracks. He hadn't even a guess what those explanations might be.

Ahead of them, Veronica held up a hand, signaling the party to stop. Challenger stopped beside her, his rifle in hand. "What is it?" he asked quietly. Tribune and Roxton caught them up in time to hear her answer.

"Do you smell that?"

The men tested the air, and lizard and human eyes widened.

"It smells like the pond did just before the zombies attacked," Challenger said. "Only much fainter."

"Which means they've passed this way recently or…"

"Get down!" It was Roxton's shout, and it was immediately followed by a rifle shot. A zombie lumbered out of the jungle yards away. Another was close behind.

"Tribune! The tub!" exclaimed Challenger. Hastily and happily, the lizardman released the heavy contraption to the ground. "Mind the gears!" the inventor admonished. Tribune rolled his eyes, not deigning to respond further. 

"Anytime now, George," put in Roxton, firing again and hitting the leading zombie. It staggered a step or two, then paused as if momentarily confused before continuing to approach. "Dammit," cursed the hunter under his breath, continuing to shoot.

Without further delay, Challenger activated the tub. Thumping and thudding of gears filled the air. Just as it had happened at the pond, the dead lizardmen shook violently and collapsed. The inventor shut off the machine with a satisfied yank on the lever. "Outstanding!" he exclaimed proudly.

Veronica was the first to notice Tribune. The erstwhile emperor was curled into an almost fetal position, his hands clamped tightly over his earholes. She knelt next to him, her usual dislike of the lizardman temporarily overwhelmed by surprised concern. "Tribune?"

He shuddered and lowered his hands. Veronica almost reached out to help him to his feet, but he moved away enough to avoid her grasp, rising on his own. It was not in his nature to show weakness in front of lesser species. Shaking off the experience as best he could, Tribune turned an icy glare on Challenger.

"Intriguing device," he said tightly. He was fighting to maintain a modicum of self-possession after what had just happened. "And you say you use it to wash clothes? Fascinating."

"We should go," Roxton said. He'd taken a moment to reload his rifle despite its relative ineffectiveness against the zombies. _At least it slows them down a bit…and it'll still stop a raptor in its tracks,_ he assured himself.

Veronica nodded. "You're right. We have no way of knowing if these two…" She gestured to the fallen corpses. "…were an advance party or if they just got lost."

"Can't be easy navigating the jungle when you're dead," quipped the hunter. Normally adept at lightening a dour mood, his attempt this time was unsuccessful. "Come on."

Again Veronica and Challenger took the lead. Roxton waited as Tribune gave the auto-washing tub a dubious look before hefting it once more.

*****

"That's it?" whispered Malone. He and Scaldus were concealed behind a large stone pillar at one end of a long, open square.

"Yes."

The two surveyed the scene for several moments. Across the square was a low, stone building. It was innocuous enough at first glance, but the guards at either end suggested otherwise. There were narrow windows high in the nearest wall, and steam was escaping through vents in the roof. When the wind shifted, Malone could smell the same distinct scent he'd encountered at the pond when the zombies had first attacked.

"How are we supposed to get in there?" he demanded. They'd observed no activity at either entrance.

"Give it a moment," the lizardman said.

A gong chimed loudly three times, and as they watched people began to file out of the building from the nearer door. It was an odd mix of humans and lizards, none of them looking overly happy with the situation. They trudged wearily past the guard. One of the men stumbled and nearly fell, only to be caught by the nearest lizard and helped back to his feet. Malone was surprised by the sight, but kept silent.

With his good hand, the reporter scratched the back of his neck. It was hot even here in the shadow of the stone pillar, and sweat was trickling from his hair down his back, tickling him. He was already regretting having put his shirt back on. With help from Younus he'd gotten his good arm through the sleeve, and the lizard healer had buttoned the shirt over his injured arm. Now he was that much warmer, and his arm and chest were beginning to itch against the bandages. _And now I'm going in there?_ he thought, eyeing the steam vents in the stone building. _What was I thinking?_

Still, there was no backing out now. He had to learn as much as he could before returning to the others. "Now what?" whispered the reporter.

"Wait," was Scaldus's reply.

The crowd of workers cleared, and another group appeared. This time, they were heading into the building.

"Come with me." Scaldus rose and put a strong hand around Malone's uninjured arm. "Come on you slacker!" the lizardman shouted.

Malone started at the sound, but was savvy enough to play along. He moved forward toward the thinning group of workers.

Scaldus approached the guard as the last of the laborers went inside. "Got another one for you, " he said. "Not much good for heavy lifting, but useful for the easier jobs."

"Good," the guard said with a grim smile that made the reporter nervous. The lizard eyed him. "Move it!" he snarled. He shoved Malone through the door.

It was all Ned could do to keep from crying out. _Great. The painkillers are fading,_ he thought in frustration. He was glad the anesthetic had finally cleared from his system enough to allow him to think clearly, but the analgesic that kept his arm from throbbing was going with it.

He blinked several times as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight to the dimmer lamp light within. He coughed as a wave of foul air hit him.

Then all thoughts of pain or drugs, darkness or stench left his mind as he saw what was in the building.

_Continued in Round 11_


	9. Round 11

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 11 - Zakiyah**

*****

Challenger turned from watching Tribune lift the auto-washing tub and prepared to follow Veronica. As he did so, a reflection of sunlight off of moisture near one of the zombie's bodies caught his attention. Looking again, his eyes widened. "Wait a moment," he called to his companions. "I want to examine the corpses."

Veronica wrinkled her nose. "Really?"

"We shouldn't stay out in the open like this," Roxton warned.

"We need to know what we're fighting," Challenger answered absently, kneeling down next to the first corpse. He reached out and shifted the corpse over onto its back, the better to examine both it and the liquid pooled beneath the body. "Now this is most curious"

"What is it, Challenger?" Roxton asked, sparing the scientist a glance before turning back to keep an eye on their surroundings.

"Unless I am much mistaken, this is blood!" the lanky man exclaimed, gingerly touching the sticky liquid and sniffing it. "Well, blood and perhaps something else; it seems overly watery"

"But corpses don't bleed," Veronica pointed out, her eyes widening at the implication.

"Indeed not," Tribune murmured, fascinated in spite of himself. He moved closer to Challenger, shifting the auto-washing tub in his arms so he had an unimpeded view of the proceedings. "Most interesting, Professor."

Doubly determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, Challenger reached out and ran his hands over the decaying flesh of the corpse, examining the area where Roxton's rifle bullet had entered the chest. The small entrance wound was oozing a tiny bit of blood, but when he pressed the area around it, the scientist could feel the surface move as if a much larger amount of liquid was trapped right beneath the surface. Pulling out his field knife, Challenger delicately probed the area of the wound. The knife tip slipped in quite easily, then snagged on something. Tugging gently, the scientist was astonished when the knife abruptly ripped a shallow cut several inches long, releasing a torrent of fluid. "What on earth?"

"Ew!" Veronica recoiled from the overpowering stench. "That's even worse than it was at the pond!"

"Fascinating," Challenger murmured, not even noticing the smell in his preoccupation with his discovery. He lengthened the incision, grasped the edges, and gently pulled them apartto reveal whole, healthy-looking lizard skin underneath the decayed surface layer. The bullet wound was still evident, but at this level it looked like a normal bullet wound. Clear liquid seeped from underneath the surface layer, mingling with the blood from the wound. "Tribune, do your people shed their skins whole, like snakes?"

"Hardly like common reptiles," Tribune sniffed, offended, "but yes, we do moult, particularly when we are younger and growing quickly."

"Then I'd say this decayed outer layer is nothing more than a partially shed skin, which for some reason has adhered to the body, rather than shedding off as normal. That's what makes them appear to be dead – the decaying outer skin."

"You mean he's not dead?" Roxton exclaimed.

"Oh no, he's dead all right – but I'd say it was your bullet that killed him," Challenger explained. "It wasn't an immediately fatal hit, but it was enough to cause death fairly quickly." He reached into his coat pocket, brought out a small sample jar, and proceeded to take a tissue sample.

"He didn't even flinch when I shot him, much less drop!" Roxton objected.

"True, although others did earlier, back at the Treehouseand then there's the strange collapse caused by my auto-washing tubnot to mention the attacks themselves," Challenger mused. He stood up, shaking his head. "I don't have all the pieces yet, but I can say one thing. We're not dealing with animate corpses, but living lizardmen."

"Can you reverse the process?" Tribune asked, forgetting his arrogant disdain in his excitement.

"I don't even know what the 'process' is, if there is one, much less whether it's reversible. I need more information." The scientist leveled a challenging look at the lizard. "You called it a process. Do you have more information?"

"No," Tribune denied, shifting the tub again.

"Well, we won't get more information standing around here," Roxton pointed out. "Let's move." He wrinkled his nose and gave the scientist a wry look. "First, though, we find you a stream."

Challenger ruefully looked down at his dripping hands and nodded agreement.

*****

Malone couldn't believe his eyes. Wooden bunks were stacked all along the long wall of the room, from floor to ceiling, three or four high. In each bunk was a decaying corpse. _There must be at least fifty of themand this is just one room. What if there are more like it?_

A few of the workers had already moved to a long, low table set up near the bunks. The table was covered with flasks filled with a pale blue liquid that glowed in the dimly lit room. Others were moving to large vats that took up most of the rest of the room. Malone paused, confused as to which way he should go. Before he could make up his mind, the choice was taken out of his hands.

"Here, you," one of his fellow workers muttered. "You must be new here. Get moving to the table before the overseers spot you standing around. You're no good for stirring the vats, not with one arm."

Obediently Malone shuffled over to the table, doing his best to look inconspicuous. Watching carefully, he saw that the first workers had already picked up flasks from the table and had moved to the bunks containing the corpses. He made a show of carefully picking up his own flask, giving himself time to see what the others did with theirs. His eyes widened as he realized that the workers were raising the flasks to the lips of the corpses – and that the corpses seemed to be drinking the fluid! At first Malone was sure his eyes were playing tricks on him, but blinking didn't change what he saw, and he realized he could delay no longer. _Okay, so I'm about to feed the dead. Better this way than some others I could think of, I suppose._

He approached his first corpse with some trepidation. Seen up close, the lizard was a repulsive sight. The eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, and the skin was showing some signs of decay, particularly around the face and extremities. Still, this corpse was in much better shape than those he'd seen at the pond and the Treehouse, and it didn't smell nearly as bad. Imitating the other workers, he gingerly brought the flask of liquid to the corpse's mouth and tipped it so the contents ran down into it. He couldn't suppress a shiver as the corpse swallowed audibly.

_Looks like the others are giving the entire contents of the flask to a single corpse,_ Malone mused as he continued to feed the corpse the liquid in a steady stream. _I wonder what's in this stuff?_

It wasn't until he was carrying the now-empty flask back to the table to pick up another that the idea hit him. _Challenger needs a sample of this!_ The flask was too large to smuggle out, even under his shirt, and Malone did not miss the fact that one of the overseers was keeping a regular eye on the flasks arriving and leaving the table. _With my luck, they're keeping count,_ he realized as he carefully placed his empty flask on the table and picked up another full container. _I need some other kind of containersomething really small, that I can hide in a pocket._

_Pocketpocketwait a minute!_ The sudden flash of inspiration was so brilliant that Malone almost dropped his flask. _It's going to be tricky, but if it's still thereI'd better try this right away; if it doesn't work, I'll need time to think of something else._ Shuffling over to another lizard bunk, this one in deeper shadows, Malone set the flask down next to the body. Reaching into his pocket with some difficulty, he couldn't help grinning as his fingers closed around a familiar shape. _Thank goodness!_ It took a bit of squirming, but eventually he was able to withdraw his trusty fountain pen. _Now I just need to empty itI wish I could rinse it out, but I'll just have to hope that a bit of ink won't ruin the sample._

It felt like it took forever. Malone could feel the sweat trickling down his neck as he struggled first to empty the pen, and then refill it from the flask – no simple task, as one-handed as he was. No one seemed to notice his delay, but he heaved a sigh of relief all the same as he finally returned the pen to his pocket and picked up the flask. _Sorry for the delay in dinner,_ he apologized silently as he started feeding the corpse, _but then again, what does it matter? I don't suppose you have much appetite when you're dead._

It wasn't much later when the door to the outside opened again. Malone looked up from the corpse he was feeding and squinted against the daylight. _Wonder why they keep it so dark in here?_ He could tell the newcomer was a lizard, but that was all. He went back to feeding his corpse, warily keeping an eye out – then stiffened as the newcomer strode purposefully in his direction. _Uh-oh_

*****

Marguerite took a deep breath, looking over at the other women as she tried to settle the churning in her stomach. _Great. 'All our lives depend on it.' – and so I should risk mine. I felt safer in the Great War!_ The similarities between this situation and some of the situations she'd found herself in then did not escape her, adding to her tension. Specialized instincts that had relaxed somewhat during her time on the Plateau came sharply awake, and she didn't like what they were telling her. _Not enough informationenemy territorydubious allies with hidden agendasoh yes, very much like the Great War. Except for the zombiesI hate unknown variables. I can handle this._ A cool smile settled over her face, completing the serene mask that let nothing of her thoughts show. "Very well then. What's the overall plan? I assume you must have one."

"We do, although it's not entirely complete," Marina admitted. She eyed Marguerite warily. 

"Of course not."

Eula and Sennia exchanged grins at the subtle sarcasm in Marguerite's voice, but Marina chose to ignore it. "As long as Cantus has control of these zombie troops, there's not much we can do. They're virtually unstoppable. Additionally, Cantus still has a core of loyal followers who are just as eager as he is to try and reclaim the whole Empire." She paused, obviously considering how much to tell.

"Go on," Marguerite encouraged after a moment of silence.

"We're hoping that your alchemist friend will be able to work out a solution to the zombies. In the meantime, we're continuing to prepare the way for an overthrow of Cantus and his followers, which we'll put into effect as soon as the zombies have been neutralized."

Before she could elaborate further, a soft bell began tolling. All the women in the room stiffened.

"What's that?" Marguerite asked. "What does it mean?"

"It means we're out of time to explain things – at least everything," Marina snapped. "Follow me."

The other women hurried from the room. Hiding her exasperation, Marguerite quickly followed. As Marina stopped to close and lock the door, Marguerite moved to her side. "Go on - I need to know what's happening!" she hissed.

"What you need to know now is part of the plan involves getting some of the resistance members into Cantus's palace at the right time to help incapacitate his followers. Unfortunately, Cantus is extremely wary of anyone that isn't already part of his loyal group, and access to the palace is restricted to those he's familiar with and a few human slaves – servants and two or three favored gladiators." Marina smiled thinly. "Fortunately, Cantus doesn't see human females as threatening, and he likes to keep his followers entertained."

"So that bell means"

"We're being summoned to the palace," Marina confirmed, then frowned. "I don't suppose you know how to dance?"

Marguerite was fairly sure that Marina didn't mean formal ballroom dancing. "I'll manage."

Marina looked skeptical. 

"Eula and I think we can work her into a routine, Marina," Sennia said, dropping back to join them and catching the last bit of their conversation. "All she has to do is hold on to the veils and smile, and we'll do the rest."

"Good." Marina smiled at the tall woman, then turned back to Marguerite. "One other thing you should know, Marguerite. Most lizards only find us appealingaestheticallybut there are a few perverts. Eula and Sennia should be able to steer you clear of them, particularly since Cantus disapproves of that sort of thing. If one of his humans approaches you, though"

"I get the idea," Marguerite finished dryly when Marina didn't continue. "Don't worry about me. I know how to work a crowd."

*****

"How much further to your city?" Veronica asked as the group reached the summit of a small hill. The shadows were lengthening rapidly; it would be dark in another hour or so.

"Not far. If I were not burdened with this ridiculous contraption and forced to keep to your slow pace, I could easily reach it within a few of your minutes," Tribune sneered, his voice dripping with irritation. "Even given your inferior physiology, we should be there before dark."

"Good," Roxton rumbled, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of his tone. Between Tribune's incessant sniping, the seemingly interminable journey, and continued worry for his friends, his temper was sorely tried. _It's been over eight hours since Marguerite and Malone were taken. Anything could have happened to them by now._

"How are we going to get into the city?" Challenger wanted to know.

"One of my still-loyal subjects should be waiting for us close by, with messages, including the latest information on ways in and out of the city." Tribune smirked. "Before I left to warn you, I arranged for a number of potential meeting spots. We're very close to one now." A slight rustling in the bushes on the downhill slope caused the lizard to smile. "In fact, that might be him now."

"Or it might be someone or something else," Roxton pointed out, raising his rifle.

Tribune's smile faded a bit. The explorers tensed for action, weapons aimed and ready. 

_Continued in Round 12_


	10. Round 12

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 12 – DNash**

*****

"You!" the lizard said, pointing at Malone with a wickedly sharp knife. The startled reporter tried to hide his relief when he recognized the figure before him. It was Scaldus. "Come with me." 

His tone would have made Malone's knees shake had he not known the lizard to be a member of the conspiracy. Still, not wanting to let on to those around him, he took a nervous step away from Scaldus. "Why? What do you want with me?"

Scaldus eyed him menacingly. "Cantus is hungry for fresh meat. You're the freshest we have. Now _move_!" he ordered, taking one threatening step toward Malone.

The reporter set down his empty flask on the long table and, keeping his head bowed, meekly approached the lizardman. Scaldus gestured him forward, and Ned led the way toward the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the humans he left behind. No one would look at him. _Typical reaction to a condemned man,_ he thought. He'd seen it before in a court room when he'd been covering a murder trial for his newspaper. Not a single soul on the jury so much as glanced at the defendant as they returned from their deliberations. When they'd announced their guilty verdict, he'd understood why.

The strange pair passed out of the darkness of the building into the bright afternoon sun of the Plateau. Malone paused a split second, blinking back tears at the sudden change.

"Keep moving!" ordered Scaldus, shoving him forward.

Malone stumbled a step, wincing in pain as the movement jarred his injured arm. He shot an angry look over his shoulder. The expression of apology and warning he saw on the lizardman's face kept him from blurting out an equally angry—and likely foolish—comment. Instead, he faced forward again and continued to walk.

"This way," the lizard said sharply. He used his knife to point him in the right direction, off to his left.

Glad not to be shoved again, Malone took the hint and turned left toward another stone building, this one also with steam emanating from a vent in the roof. He dared an inquisitive glance at his escort.

"Kitchen," was the brusque reply.

Ned's eyes widened a little until he saw the lizardman wink, just as he had back in the cell. _The cell,_ he thought suddenly. _I hope Marguerite's all right._

They reached the building but instead of going inside, Scaldus led him around to the back. He checked the area quickly and determined they were alone. "I hope you have everything you need," he whispered, "because there's no more time to waste. You must leave now. Find the others, and bring them here."

"How do I get out of here?" Malone wanted to know.

"Look around you, human."

Malone looked. He'd spent enough time in the stench of the zombies he hadn't even noticed the smell of his present surroundings. They were behind the kitchen, all right, and not a hundred feet away was the abattoir. The reporter gagged as the sight and smell registered on his tired brain.

"Ugh! Why the hell did you bring me _here_?"

"Easiest and safest way out of the city." Scaldus pointed to a horse and cart with a strange-looking winch-like attachment. Malone couldn't make out what was in the cart as the contents were covered by a large brownish tarp. A single human sat holding the horse's reins. "Refuse cart," the lizardman explained. "Just be sure to hop out before the driver dumps the contents over the cliff."

"You're kidding."

Scaldus winked again. "Partly. The driver is one of our men. He'll let you out a safe distance from the walls where you'll meet another of our operatives. Then it's up to you to find your friends—and Tribune," he added pointedly.

"How will I recognize your operative?" Malone wanted to know. For a moment he felt he was back in the Great War. He abruptly suppressed the memory.

"Simple," Scaldus was saying. "He'll be a lizard who's neither walking dead nor trying to kill you." He smiled.

"Fair enough," said Malone, although he really didn't appreciate the lizard's sense or humor. "All right. I'll do my best."

Once more, the lizardman checked for observers before hurrying with Malone to the tail of the refuse cart. He lifted a corner of the tarp, and the stench of rotted organs and old blood hit Malone like a hammer. "Get in."

The reporter fought back a wave of nausea before answering. "Now I know you're kidding."

"No."

Malone's face fell, and he swallowed hard.

"The guards at the gate are _not_ ours. You have to be hidden."

"This day just gets better and better," sighed the reporter. Using his good arm, he hauled himself up into the cart. He tried to keep as far from the gruesome contents as possible while Scaldus quickly secured the tarp over him.

*****

The palace wasn't what Marguerite was expecting. Her past experience with the lizards had been in the empire's capital city. This was an off-shoot of the collapsing civilization, and the so-called palace was obvious evidence to the fact.

"That's _it_?" she queried her companions in a whisper.

"That's it," replied Sennia, equally quietly.

"Not much of a palace."

One of their lizard guards piped up then. "Silence!"

With an annoyed glance at him, the heiress fell silent.

The group of women were led through the main gate and into the palace. Most of them seemed to know where they were going without the escort, but one or two were looking around with mixtures of awe and fear on their faces.

_They look awfully young for this,_ thought Marguerite. Her musings went no further, however, as they entered the palace's great hall. "Now this is more like it," she murmured to no one in particular.

With an eye well-trained to spot the finer things, the heiress assessed her new surroundings. The room was high-ceilinged and airy. Open windows near the tops of the walls provided natural light that was augmented by numerous lit candelabras. Plush rugs ringed the floor leaving a large, smooth, polished area of stone in the center. _Presumably for the dancers. How thoughtful._

In one corner of the hall sat a group of human musicians with a selection of instruments that were a strange mix of familiar and completely alien to the heiress. _Wonder what those will sound like,_ she thought.

While most of the room's rugs were covered with scattered pillows on which lizards and unpleasant looking human men lounged, the one at the far end of the room held a large chair. _Ah. The throne of the emperor. Very nice._

Sennia touched her arm, making her start. "Sorry," the cinnamon-haired woman whispered. "This way."

The women moved forward to line up at the edge of the carpet nearest the throne. It was Marguerite's first opportunity to get a good look at this newest self-proclaimed leader of the lizardmen. She suppressed a shudder. Not even her experiences in the Great War could have prepared her for the madness in Cantus's yellow eyes. She knew immediately even her considerable skills of manipulation and deceit wouldn't win over this creature.

_How on Earth did this madman ever become emperor?_ she puzzled. _Of course, Nero and Caligula were emperors once_

The lizard sat very still in his throne, cold eyes coolly appraising the offering of women before him. The heiress could gauge nothing from his expression; for once, she felt completely out of her depth.

*****

As quickly as Tribune's smile had faded, it bloomed again. "Put down your weapon, John," he said disdainfully. "He's a friend."

"You have friends?" the hunter asked, but he lowered the rifle slowly.

"Touché," the lizardman replied with a sardonic smile. "A gibe almost worthy of Marguerite. Perhaps I've underestimated you." He made a show of scrutinizing Roxton carefully. "Hmm. Perhaps not."

Any retort Roxton might have made was cut short by an unintelligible shout from the figure down the slope. At least it was unintelligible to the humans. Tribune appeared to understand perfectly. He set down the auto-washing tub and waved a scaled hand at the newcomer.

"What news do you have for us, Gekus?" Tribune asked as the fellow reached them.

"My lord," replied the lizardman with a bow. "I was expecting to meet my contact over an hour ago. I don't know what can have delayed him."

Tribune frowned. "I should have expected no better from that idiot. He's probably Cantus's dinner by now."

Veronica had been watching the trail ahead, but now she turned to face the two lizardmen. Gekus eyed her with a mixture of surprise and appreciation. She ignored it. "Who?" she asked, hoping her overwrought mind was merely jumping to conclusions. _If anything's happened to Ned_ "Who were you supposed to meet?"

"Malone, of course," Tribune replied offhandedly.

"How do you know?" asked Roxton abruptly.

Tribune gave a long-suffering sigh at the idiocy of inferior species. "Because I planned it that way. Of course, it could have been any of you. Malone simply happened to be with Marguerite when the zombies picked her up."

Without warning, Roxton's cocked gun was at the lizard's temple. "Explain," he snarled.

Gekus hissed, but made no move. Tribune simply looked bored.

"It'll have to wait, I'm afraid," put in Challenger. "Get off the trail quickly! Someone's approaching." The wind shifted, and a sick-making stench wafted toward them. "And whoever it is doesn't smell good."

"Wait," said Veronica. "That doesn't smell like the zombies."

Tribune took an appraising sniff of the air. "You're quite right my dear. It smells more like"

"Eww!" Veronica's relief at the sight before her was somewhat violently tempered by the condition of the individual who approached. "Ned, what happened?!"

Roxton lowered his weapon and took a step forward. "And where the hell's Marguerite?!"

*****

"You." The long green finger was pointing directly at Marguerite. "Dance."

_Of course,_ she thought sarcastically. _He couldn't have picked someone who knows what they're doing._ She curtsied to the emperor and took a step back toward the open floor. With an internal sigh of relief, she saw Sennia and Eula do the same. The rest of the women turned and sat facing the dance floor; apparently they got to enjoy each other's performances, too.

"Just hang on and follow our lead," whispered Sennia. The tall woman was unwrapping the veil she wore over her scanty blue costume. A quick glance showed the green-clad Eula was doing the same. Marguerite followed suit. Sennia handed the heiress one corner of her half-circle veil, nodding for her to pass an end of her own rose-colored one to Eula. She did, and the three spread out in a circle.

The music began—a mix of drums, pipes, double-reeded horns, and a strange many-stringed instrument. It was a surprisingly light, cheerful tune—not at all what Marguerite would have expected to hear in the situation. She found the beat difficult to follow, but her partners were clearly familiar with the piece and led her through the dance well. There was much flinging of veils and running underneath them as they floated down, and several odd over-head twists and untwists that drew the trio closer together and then apart. 

Marguerite was doing fine until Eula released her hold on the rose-colored veil, indicating with a tilt of her head she should do the same with the blue. _I really hope they don't expect me to solo,_ the heiress thought with a brief flash of panic. But no. It appeared Sennia and Eula were moving together, and Marguerite did her best to mimic them. With all the things she'd done in her life, the heiress had never used her hips in quite this fashion before.

At last, the ordeal was over. They left the dance floor, flinging their veils high over their heads then trailing the silken fabric behind them as they went. Light applause and one or two wolf whistles accompanied their departure from the spotlight.

The trio quickly reassembled. "Now what?" demanded Marguerite sotto voce.

"Now we watch the others," replied Sennia, leading the way back to the seated line of dancers. Already Cantus had chosen another to perform, and the woman was lighting two small votive candles at one of the candelabra.

"Then we work the room," added Eula with a subtle grin.

_Continued in Round 13_


	11. Round 13

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Special Authors' Note:** The astute reader might recognize a small portion of this particular round. Special thanks (and apologies) to the lovely and talented Susan Zell, whom we are certain never imagined such a use of her paragraph. All blame for said usage is of course our own. Zakiyah couldn't resistand it's not like DNash was going to stop her! ;-)  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 13 – Zakiyah**

*****

"What do you mean, 'she's still in the city'?" Roxton shouted. "She was captured because she stayed to protect you – and you just left her behind?!?"

"I didn't just 'leave her behind.' I didn't have a choice," Malone retorted defensively. Roxton's angry words had struck a nerve, and he tried to justify himself. "The others were depending on me to get to you with more information about the zombies. And there wasn't much I could do against them with only one good arm." He turned to glare at Tribune, happy to assuage some of his own discomfort by lashing out at the one he felt was responsible for the whole mess. "Besides which, judging from what Tribune's conspirators carefully did _not_ say, I don't think Marguerite would have been allowed to escape by Tribune's followers, much less Cantus's."

"What?" Roxton turned from the reporter to the lizardman, then back to the reporter as the more likely source of information.

"Tribune knows perfectly well that as long as one of us is in the city, the rest of us will do whatever it takes to get that person back – including helping him regain his throne," Malone hypothesized shrewdly. "Marguerite is his guarantee of our good behavior."

"That's why you didn't help with the elevator!" Challenger realized. "You wanted Marguerite and Malone to be captured!" Beside him, Veronica's hand dropped to her knife, her outrage at the implications apparent.

"Hm, not quite right, but correct in most of the essential details," Tribune drawled, ignoring the rage on Roxton's face and the fact that the hunter's gun was once again aimed at him. He eyed the blond reporter, a half-smile on his fleshless lips as he privately acknowledged that this human wasn't _quite_ as stupid as he seemed. Realizing that the humans would not proceed without some kind of clarification, he sighed dramatically and proceeded to speak in simple, human-understandable terms. "I'm far too intelligent to expect 'good behavior' out of you. I simply arranged to put Marguerite where her intelligence and cunning could do us all the most good – and thereby ensure that your inherent parochialism would not factor into the situation. After all, your limited vision has blinded you to threats to the entire Plateau before."

"Incredible," Challenger muttered, shaking his head.

Even though he'd already guessed most of it, Malone was still appalled to have all his worst suspicions confirmed. "Why you cold-blooded conniving bastard!"

Tribune bared his teeth in a sneer. "Really, human. What do the circumstances of my birth have to do with anything? Do try and keep your mind focused on the issues at hand. My orders were quite precise. I'm sure Marguerite is perfectly fine."

"Shows what you know," Malone taunted derisively. A second later he was wishing the words unsaid as the others all turned to stare at him. He flushed miserably, the guilt he'd been trying to suppress rushing back full force.

"Malone?" Veronica reached out to touch his shoulder, worried at his silence and his look of shame. His entire posture shrieked remorse. "What is it? What aren't you telling us?"

"Something happened to her, didn't it?" Roxton's voice was calm, almost detached, but none of the other explorers were fooled. Roxton was always at his most dangerous when one of the other expedition members was at risk. They could feel the rising temper radiating from the hunter, prickling the hairs on the back of the neck.

Malone swallowed. "She was hurt when a lizardman hit her into a wall. I don't know how badly, but she wasn't moving when he took her away." Malone didn't dare look at the others, too lost in his own guilt. _She was protecting me. Again. And I didn't do anything to help her, not even stay behind._ "I couldn't do anything; I couldn't even stand. That was the last I saw of her," he confessed softly. "The others assured me she was all right and that they'd protect her, but" He trailed off, not sure what else to say. The truth was he really didn't know what had happened to her after she'd been carried from the cell. Long-suppressed memories of another time where he'd had to leave others behind in order to carry out a vital mission seethed just beneath the surface, making him shiver. He felt Veronica squeeze his shoulder in wordless support. 

Challenger tried to ignore the dismay Malone's words evoked in him in favor of keeping his eye on the situation. Malone looked physically ill, Veronica was torn between sympathy and anger, and even Tribune looked disturbed, much to the scientist's surprise. Only he and Gekus seemed aware that Roxton was simmering over like a chemical reaction about to go out of control. He frantically searched his mind for something that might neutralize the situation before any additional catalysts were added to the mix.

"Oh, that is most unfortunate," Tribune exclaimed, sounding genuinely dismayed. "I explicitly—UGH!"

Even those who were watching for it had trouble following what happened next. Roxton shifted his grip on his Webley and punched Tribune in the jaw with it, with all the weight and force he could muster behind the blow. By the time Tribune hit the ground, the hunter was astride the fallen lizard leader, pinning him to the earth. Roxton's gun was once again held ready to fire, the end of the barrel resting lightly between Tribune's eyes. The hunter's hat had come flying off, and the low-angled sunlight turned his expression of fury into a terrifying mask.

"Roxton, NO!" Challenger shouted even as he lunged for Gekus, who was rushing to the defense of his leader. The other lizard shrugged him off easily, but the distraction gave Veronica enough time to draw her knife and place herself between Gekus and the pair frozen on the ground.

"Don't even think it," she warned the other lizard in a low, flat voice. "Even if you got past me – which you wouldn't – you'd be signing Tribune's death warrant." 

"Roxton! Roxton, you can't kill him." Malone shook his head at the inanity of his words. _Stupid – of course he can kill him! Think!_ "We might need him to get into the city. He could be useful."

Roxton didn't move, staring at Tribune with unblinking ferocity.

"I'm sure Marguerite is fine," Veronica added, also trying to calm the enraged man even while she kept Gekus at bay. "She always finds a way to come out on top."

After another few tense moments, Tribune licked his lips nervously. "Your friends are right," he said as urbanely as he could manage. "We need each other." Seeing Roxton's eyes narrow, Tribune continued hurriedly. "I regret any harm that might have come to your companion. It was not my intention, I assure you. Simple logic will tell you that. If any serious harm has befallen Marguerite, I will personally eat the persons responsible."

Roxton took several deep breaths, fighting back the urge to violence that gripped him. _This isn't helping Marguerite,_ he told himself. As much as he hated to admit it, killing Tribune was likely to do more harm than good. Still, the fact remained that the lizard had cold-bloodedly gambled with her life – with all their lives – and Roxton wasn't the man to let that pass. "If Marguerite isn't all right when we get to the city, you won't have to worry about eating anyone," he growled at last, rising slowly from Tribune's chest but keeping his gun aimed at the lizard until he was well clear of him. "I'll kill you first, and then the others responsible." Still glaring at Tribune, he stepped back and retrieved his hat, jamming it onto his head with unnecessary force. Challenger came forward and put a restraining hand on the hunter's gun arm.

Tribune nodded slowly. "I believe you would at that, John." Deliberately turning his back on the hunter, Tribune looked expectantly at Malone as if nothing had happened. "So, what news do you bring from my city? Do you have further details on the zombies?"

"Better than that," Malone boasted as he dug into his trouser pocket, glad to help break the tension of the moment. "I have this." He handed his fountain pen and the folded notes to Challenger with a triumphant smile, then hastily explained as he registered the puzzled looks from his companions. "The notes are from one of Tribune's followers – about the zombies, or so he said. Better yet, I managed to get a sample of the liquid they're feeding the zombies. I had to smuggle it out in my fountain penhope a bit of ink won't hurt."

Challenger beamed at the reporter. "Wonderful! Very resourceful thinking," he approved. "Now if I only had my lab"

"You should be able to use the resources of the healer's lab once we reach the city," Tribune pointed out, retrieving the notes and scanning them eagerly. "I'm sure it's rather different from yours, but it should do the job."

"Good work, Malone," Roxton said quietly, with a hint of a smile. "That can't have been easy with only one hand." He frowned a little, the reporter's bedraggled appearance only now fully registering on his consciousness. "Are you all right?"

Malone accepted it for the apology he knew it to be. "I think my elbow's broken, but the lizard healer put it in a pretty good sling. I'll be fine – once we get Marguerite back." His wordless look of determination was acknowledged by a slight nod from the older man. 

The group set off again, Tribune taking care to stay some distance from Roxton. Veronica walked next to Ned. "That was really clever of you, thinking of the fountain pen," she said softly. "I'm so glad you're safe."

"Thanks," Malone mumbled, gratified.

She moved to touch his good arm, then drew back. Despite herself, Veronica's nose wrinkled. "Is that how you acquired yourinteresting smell? Working with the zombies?"

"No," Malone admitted, chagrined all over again. "I had aninteresting ride out of the city in a refuse cart, as part of the load." He gave Veronica a rueful smile. "I guess there are some things so disgusting that even a lizard won't go near them."

Veronica bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Well, we'd better get you cleaned up before we try to sneak into the city, or they'll be able to smell us coming."

*****

Marguerite watched in fascination as five dancers moved across the floor in complicated patterns, hips dropping and shimmying in rapid motion as arms spun silver canes overhead in perfect synchronicity. This was a much more complicated and dangerous dance than the one she'd taken part in; one ill-timed swing from just one of the dancers could easily spell disaster. Her eyes widened as one dancer started a solo and the other four dancers broke off in pairs, one pair to each side of the soloist. Each pair member circled the other, holding her cane in both hands and swinging it in alternating, vertical half-arcs, timing her movements so that each swing just barely missed the other dancer's head and stomach. Without missing the beat the dancers switched partners, a new soloist taking the center, and Marguerite marveled that despite the height difference between Eula and Sennia, the two managed to miss each other just as narrowly and as gracefully as they had with their former, closer-sized partners. Not only did they make it look easy, but from the smiles on their faces, they made it appear fun!

When the music ended at last, Marguerite couldn't help but join in the enthusiastic applause, although she didn't dare try one of the ululating cheers voiced by the other women. Panting slightly, Eula and Sennia settled down on either side of Marguerite and surreptitiously fanned themselves. They had participated in the last eight dances. Marguerite estimated the two had danced continuously for at least an hour. Even in the waning light – daylight was quickly fading from the windows, leaving only the candelabra and torches for illumination – she could see both women were glistening with sweat.

"Whew," Eula whispered under the cover of music as another group of dancers took the floor. She stopped fanning herself to shake her wrists vigorously. "That's a lot harder on the wrists now than it used to be" The blonde paused briefly as Sennia sent her an almost imperceptible glare. "Guess I must need more practice," she finished, covering nicely.

Marguerite might have been fooled if she hasn't seen Sennia's look of warning. Casually, she reached out and lifted the nearest cane slightly, taking care to look innocently curious. She was startled by how heavy it was. Given the weight of the canes and the speed with which the women had been twirling them, the canes could be formidable weapons. Each cane had considerable reach, not to mention that handy hook at one end. And waitamong the decorative lines that spiraled up the length of the cane, wasn't that a single straight line near the top, perhaps indicating some sort of hidden compartment? She looked at the two dancers, who were keeping a wary eye on her. "I'm really looking forward to learning how to use one of these," she whispered brightly, just in case anyone might overhear their conversation. "They add such exciting possibilities to the dance."

"Yes, they do," Eula deadpanned in response. "I'm sure you'll pick it up in no time at all."

Already pink with exertion, Sennia flushed a deep red as she struggled not to laugh. Getting herself back under control quickly, she nodded towards the dance floor. "The dancing will end soon. When the music ends, we'll all kneel to Cantus. Stay flat until you see us starting to rise. After that, we'll mingle." Her expression darkened momentarily, and her next words were spoken so softly that Marguerite had to strain to hear them. "We never had to do this before _him_; we were dancers, respected for our skill and left strictly alone. But now Remember to stick close to us if you can." The smile remained on the cinnamon-haired dancer's lips, but her eyes were grim and sad.

Marguerite smiled, acknowledging the other woman's concern, then turned back to watch the other dancers. Despite the precariousness of her current situation – and the fascination of the dancers on the floor – part of her mind continued to worry about Malone. _I hope Marina was telling me the truth about smuggling him out of the city,_ she mused, then shrugged mentally, recognizing she had no way of verifying his fateyet. _I hope he's all right, wherever he is._ Thoughts of Malone led to thoughts of the rest of the explorers, and she felt a prickle of anxiety_. They'll be worried, particularly if Malone hasn't made his way back to them. I hope they don't do something stupid._ She hid a sigh. _Another reason to hope Marina told me the truth about Malone. They'll be a lot more rational if he's safe with them. Nobody's likely to venture much on my behalf!_ She reconsidered that thought, then smiled faintly. _Well, maybe onebut with Ned safe, the others will keep him in line._

*****

"Well, that was certainly a lot easier than getting _out_ of the city," Malone complained in a whisper. "Why couldn't you have sent me that way?" 

"Alas, the entrance and exit to the hidden passage is a secret only known towell, me," Tribune murmured with mock regret. "After all, what's the point of having a secret escape route if everyone knows about it?"

The group was standing inside what appeared to be a storage room, hidden from view by stacks of boxes all around them. Upon their arrival here, Tribune had sent Gekus to gather some of his followers – ignoring the disapproving looks from Roxton and Challenger. A few small skylights overhead showed that the last of the daylight was just now receding from the sky. Remembering the seemingly interminable journey through the cramped, pitch-black passage, bent almost entirely double and listening to the interminable struggle to squeeze the auto-washing tub through the tight quarters, Malone was surprised it was still so early. "I suppose – but it would have been a lot easier," he grumbled, almost inaudibly.

Not inaudibly enough for lizard ears in the quiet of the room. "And much more dangerous," Tribune pointed out.

A slight sound froze them all into wary stillness. Moments later Tribune and Malone relaxed as Gekus came into view, followed by two other lizardmen. The two new lizardmen quickly knelt at Tribune's feet and kissed his hands.

"Your Glorious Imperial Majesty, you have returned," one of them murmured with obvious emotion.

"Rise, Scaldus, Younus. Rise, my friends," Tribune urged them graciously. "How have things gone in my absence?"

"Well, Sire. We have followed your orders to the letter. I see the human managed to reach you," Scaldus replied, giving Malone one of those disconcerting winks.

"Not quite to the letter," Tribune contradicted, mindful of Roxton's suspicious look. "The human tells me that the female Marguerite was injured. I left strict orders to keep her safe."

Scaldus shifted uncomfortably. "An unfortunate incident, Sire, but not a serious one. She is safe now. It was Lassus."

Tribune snorted. "Of course it was."

"Who's Lassus? Where is Marguerite?" Roxton demanded.

"Lassus is an unfortunate throwback, whom I regrettably did not execute for his stupidity and degeneracy when I had a chance. Naturally enough Cantus finds him delightful, although even he draws the line at some of his more disgusting habits." Noting the impatience on the faces of the humans, Tribune waved for Scaldus to continue. "Tell me what happened, and where she is now."

"Lassus struck her down when she spoke up in defense of the other human," Scaldus recounted obediently. "Fortunately, I was able to scare him enough about our commander's likely reaction to his carelessness that he followed my orders without question. I had him take her to Marina while I dealt with the other human. Marina sent word that the female woke with all her wits intact, and only a slight bump on the head to show for her adventure." Scaldus paused, considering. "It's to our advantage things happened as they did, actually."

"Why do you say that?"

"Not only did it give me a chance to get the other human out of the cell unseen, but Lassus discovered he'd lost his belt knife at the end of his watch. He searched quite diligently – for Lassus, anyway – even asked for my help. It eventually occurred to him to 'check' to see if it might have fallen out of his belt in the women's quarters," Scaldus continued, "not because I think he really thought so, but" He glanced at the other lizardmen uncomfortably, obviously embarrassed by something.

"Yes, I can see where he would eventually realize the opportunity," Tribune sighed. "And?"

"The commander forbade him to leave the barracks, not that it stopped Lassus. I spotted him sneaking out and followed him. I thought for a minute we might have a problem, as there was no one around to keep him from the woman's room, and he had a key. Fortunately Marina must have anticipated such a possibility. Lassus was too dismayed when he found the room empty to hear me come up behind him. I knocked him out and left him locked in the room." Scaldus grinned nastily. "I'd love to hear his explanation to the commander when he's found there, against orders, with no prisoner."

"Well done," Tribune smiled.

While relieved that Marguerite was reportedly unhurt, Roxton was still worried about her, and he didn't like the subtext he was hearing in the lizardman's report. "So where is she, if she's not locked up in the women's quarters?" he growled.

Quickly looking at Tribune for permission, Scaldus answered Roxton directly. "Hiding in plain sight. She's with the other women, entertaining in the palace. I almost didn't believe my eyes when I saw her dancing with the others in front of the throne."

"She's _what_?" Roxton exclaimed.

Veronica started to laugh; she couldn't help herself. "Yes, that sounds like Marguerite!" Challenger and Malone also guffawed. Even Roxton saw the humor in it enough to shake his head in relieved bemusement.

"What a female!" Tribune rhapsodized, only half-jokingly. "Not here a day, brought here completely unaware of the situation, and already she's infiltrated the palace. It's a shame she wasn't born a lizard; her cunning and survival instincts are second to none. Undoubtedly she's well on her way to coaxing all of Cantus's secrets from his followers." He preened in satisfaction. "You must now see the genius of my plan."

The reminder of why they were here in the first place – and the dangerous game they were all playing – sobered the others. "Hardly genius," Challenger disputed. "You could have come to us directly and avoided all this conspiratorial folderol."

"Not to mention Malone wouldn't have been hurt," Veronica snapped.

"Minor details, and you would never have moved so quickly," Tribune dismissed their objections with a wave. "Younus, is your laboratory ready?"

"All prepped, although I still don't see what a human might be able to do that I cannot," the healer sniffed.

"You shall soon see. Now, Professor Challenger, it's time to get you and that wonderful sample off to the lab and get you to work on our little zombie problem."

"Oh yes, the sampleI'll want to look at that right away. I hope it hasn't broken down, and that the contamination isn't too severe," Challenger said mostly to himself, distracted by thoughts of the upcoming analysis.

"What about Marguerite?" Roxton reiterated stubbornly.

Tribune looked at him in surprise. "What about her? You heard Scaldus. She's safe and right where she should be – gathering information right under Cantus's nose."

"You call _that_ safe?" the hunter replied scornfully. "We need to get her out of there!"

"Out of the question," Tribune replied at once. Seeing the defiant looks on the faces of the humans, Tribune shrugged at their stupidity. "Even if I had a way to 'get her out of there', which I don't, Marguerite can be of far more help where she is."

Seeing the ire on Roxton's face, Veronica quickly spoke up. "I think you've forgotten that _Marguerite_ doesn't know we're here, or that help is at hand," she pointed out. "Knowing what you know of Marguerite, you don't really expect her just to stay put and wait for developments, do you?"

"Hm, you do have a point," Tribune mused.

"Just think of all the trouble she could get up to," Malone continued, following Veronica's lead. "We at least need to get a message to her letting her know we're here."

"You might be right, but I have no way of accomplishing such a feat," Tribune stated. "We'll just have to trust to her superb instincts until after Cantus's little soiree."

"Unacceptable," Roxton snapped flatly.

Tribune was about to answer when Gekus cleared his throat softly. "There might be a way."

Scaldus turned to Gekus, a startled look on his face. "I know we've discussed the possibility, but we don't know if it will work."

Gekus shrugged. "We're going to have to try it out sometime. We need to know if we can get others in place when the time comes."

The explorers looked at each other, puzzled, while Tribune allowed a slow smile to spread across his face, his eyes resting on Roxton with malicious merriment.

*****

_I've been to worse parties,_ Marguerite mused to herself as she followed Eula and Sennia from one group of celebrants to the next, _but not recently, and not willingly. Still, everything is going well so far._ Night was well advanced. The candles had burned down considerably during the time they'd made their rounds, flirting and talking, never staying too long with any one person. She'd been impressed by the other women's talent in socializing. Eula was vivacious, worldly, and sarcastic, carefully dancing on the edge of what was acceptable without ever falling off, and never failing to entertain her listeners. Sennia was much quieter, but she was a skillful listener, encouraging others to speak and always seeming interested in what was said. Marguerite had chosen one of her many personas from the War, that of the rather inexperienced but not entirely innocent ingénue. A little shy, a little wicked, and very much happy to be where the action was, the characterization meshed well with those of the other two women. Already Marguerite had learned several interesting things, made note of alliances and rivalries, and curried more than a little favor with several people who might prove useful later.

It wasn't a lack of amenities that made the party so awful either. There was food and drink in plenty and a variety of entertainment, of which she and her fellow dancers were but a small part now that the dancing was done. Other kinds of performers had moved into the room, entertaining those not wishing to converse with their fellows. _No,_ she thought, _it would be a lovely partyif everyone weren't scared to death of the lizard sitting on the throne._ The stench of fear was the strongest smell in the room, far overpowering the scents of perfume, food, and drink. Cantus sat observing them all, drinking occasionally from a goblet but otherwise ignoring both food and entertainment in favor of watching the fear he inspired. Whenever his eyes came to rest on a particular area, everyone instinctively stiffened, their bodies betraying their unease. Occasionally he would summon two or three individuals to his side for a brief moment of conversation. Marguerite never got close enough to hear what was said, but those so summoned invariably returned to the crowd looking as if they'd just escaped the hangman. Fortunately for her peace of mind, humans were never singled out for the 'honor'.

Eula sidled up to Sennia and Marguerite, putting an arm around each of their waists. At first Marguerite had been startled by the dancers' habit of frequently touching each other: casually holding hands, leaning against each other, or putting an arm around a waist, as Eula just did. She had quickly learned it served a dual purpose. The first was entertainment; Cantus' followers appreciated the aesthetics of a grouping of women in close proximity, apparently having the time of their life. The second was support; both reassurance and guidance could be offered in the subtle squeezing of an arm or gentle tug around the waist. Marguerite was surprised at how comforting she found it. She had never 'worked' a room with so many others 'working' with her before, incorporating her as part of a team and watching her back. Seeing the dancers interact with one another reminded her strongly of her fellow Treehouse residents; there was that same sense of unity, a unity that was extended to her despite everything.

"Aren't we having a lovely time?" the blonde dancer said, winking slightly as she guided them all to turn towards an elderly lizard and his group of companions in another part of the room. The elderly lizard had apparently been expecting the attention; he nodded regally and gestured for the women to join him. Smiling prettily, the three made their way towards him, snaking their way through the crowd hand-in-hand with Eula leading the way. 

On their way to join the elderly lizard, they passed a minstrel sitting in one corner softly playing a strange instrument and singing a long, torturous ballad in a highly melodramatic style to anyone foolish enough to linger in his vicinity.

_"He ran.   
They were right behind him.  
His breath ached in his chest;  
sweat ran in rivers down his face;  
muscles burned beneath his skin;  
his leg bled in a slow, warm gush with each step.  
  
But he couldn't stop.  
She was waiting and counting on him.  
Under those conditions she wouldn't last long.  
He couldn't let her down.  
Ignore the pain. Don't think. Just run. Survive."_

_Ugh,_ Marguerite thought to herself, unable to repress a shudder of distaste. _Dreadful. Saccharine, sloppy, and incredibly overwrought. It doesn't even rhyme. If that's an example of the lizards' aesthetic sensibility, no wonder this civilization is falling apart._

Perhaps it was the distraction of the maudlin music or just the press of the crowd, but Marguerite didn't see the tall, dark-haired human until her free hand was suddenly seized in a powerful grip. With Marguerite stopped in her tracks, the other two women perforce stopped as well.

"Eula, Sennia," the man acknowledged the other two, looking Marguerite up and down. "I don't recall your friend."

"Why Alman, I thought you only had eyes for me," Eula teased, dropping Sennia's hand in order to run a finger suggestively up and down the man's chest. "This is Mara," she added, using the nickname Sennia had inexplicably assigned Marguerite the first time she'd introduced her to someone. Marguerite hated it, but guessed that the cinnamon-haired dancer had her reasons, particularly when Eula picked it up without missing a beat.

"I've always got eyes for you, Eula, but tonight I think I'd like to get a chance to know Mara," the brawny man replied. Judging from his overall appearance, Marguerite guessed he was a gladiator. Like most of the male humans, he wore loose, knee-length trousers and sandals, although his status as 'guest' apparently granted him the right to wear a vest as well. However, his most startling attire was the leather mask that reached from his forehead to just above his nose, trailed down the left side of his face, and still did not entirely conceal the network of scars leading up from his jawline. From behind the eyeholes of his mask, two dark blue eyes shone with confident aggression.

Eula pouted prettily while Sennia shot Marguerite a quick look full of concern. "You disappoint me, Alman. Besides which, Erlus there is waiting for us."

Alman laughed. It was not a particularly nice sound. "Jealous, my dear? Nice try, Eula, but I just won Erlus a small fortune in the arena. I think he'll not begrudge me her company, particularly when he has you two lovely ladies to admire."

Marguerite recognized the inevitable. It was a dance she'd had to dance before. She squeezed Sennia's hand once in reassurance before letting it go and turning to face Alman. "You really won Erlus a fortune in the arena?" she said coquettishly, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I'd love to hear about it."

"Of course," Alman replied, obviously amused and pleased at her evident interest. Tugging her hand, he drew her away from her companions.

Eula and Sennia exchanged a look, but there was nothing they could do but hope she knew what she was getting into. They walked away, bright smiles concealing their unease as they unobtrusively watched Alman lead Marguerite towards the edge of the room. Theirs were not the only eyes following the pair as the gladiator exited with his chosen prize.

*****

Malone was actively fighting exhaustion, and slowly losing the battle. It had been a very long day. The healer's laboratory was comfortably warm, almost too much so, and he blinked rapidly as the equipment in front of him blurred and doubled. A soft touch on his good arm startled him, jerking him out of his befuddled state.

"Hey," Veronica said, looking into his face and smiling understandingly. "You look pretty tired. Why don't you go lie down on one of the cots out in the infirmary?"

"No, no," Malone protested instinctively. "I'll be fine. Iuh, I think I'll step outside though, and see if I can get a little fresh air."

Veronica looked at him skeptically. She was tired herself, but he was practically asleep on his feet. Deep lines of fatigue and lingering pain were etched onto his face. "Good idea. I think I'll come with you; I could also use a little air." _Not to mention this way I can keep an eye on you. I'm not about to let anything else happen to you today!_

"But Challenger" Malone started to protest.

"We'll only be gone a few minutes. I doubt Challenger would even notice, much less mind." She raised her voice slightly. "Challenger, Malone and I are going to take a little walk. We'll be right back."

"Fine, fine," Challenger mumbled, not looking up from the lizard's equivalent of a microscope. "Just want to look at this next set of blood samples mixed with the fluid from the fountain pen"

Veronica laughed quietly. "You see? I doubt he even noticed when Tribune, Scaldus, and Gekus left, or when Younus decided he could no longer stand watching a human in his precious lab."

Malone had to admit she was right. "Okay then, but just for a few minutes."

"We'll never leave sight of the door," she agreed.

The two made their way quietly through the deserted infirmary and to the side door, which opened onto a small medicinal garden. The garden felt safe enough under the double cover of darkness and a vine-covered arbor flanking the door. Flowers and fragrant foliage scented the air, and Malone and Veronica stretched, reveling in the momentary peace.

"Sit for a minute?" Veronica invited in a whisper, patting a convenient stone bench.

"No thanks," Malone declined, equally quietly. "Sitting will just make me sleepier."

Veronica watched for a few minutes as Malone paced quietly back and forth. "None of this was your fault, you know," she said at last.

"It feels like it," Malone replied, not surprised that Veronica had guessed his thoughts. "I know Tribune set all this in motion, but it doesn't change the fact that I lagged behind because of that stupid slip at the pond. Marguerite stayed with me even after I said something pretty nasty to her, which is why she was there to be grabbed in the first place. If I hadn't been such an idiot, maybe we'd all be back safe in the Treehouse."

"Or maybe we'd all have been captured," Veronica pointed out. "Tribune wanted us here. He'd have probably found a way to get us here eventually." She shook her head at the machinations of the unscrupulous lizard. "What did you say to Marguerite, anyway?" she added, both because she was curious and because she suspected this was a large part of Malone's continued guilt.

Malone winced at the recollection but answered the question. "She was trying to be helpful, and I told her not to, because it was unnatural for her."

Veronica smiled in spite of herself. "Well it is," she chortled.

Malone's expression remained serious. "Maybe, but she did it anyway, in spite of being angry about what I said. I never apologized," he added irrelevantly.

"You'll get that chance," Veronica reassured him, no longer smiling.

Malone shook his head. "She said something else that keeps coming back to me."

"What?"

"'Just look what it gets me.' Well, I keep looking at what trying to help me got her, and I don't much like what I see."

"You didn't abandon her, Ned," Veronica answered his unspoken condemnation. "You did the best you could for all of us by scouting out where they made the zombies and making sure you got what you knew to Challenger. You did all that while injured and in pain. You did fine, better than fine. You'll get your chance to apologize to her." Veronica's lips quirked in a wry smile, and she spoke with deliberate humor. "Knowing Marguerite, you'll get lots of chances, since I doubt she'll let you forget it."

As Veronica had intended, Malone smiled a little at her sally. "Probably not." His smile warmed as he realized he indeed felt a little better; somehow Veronica always understood. "Thanks, Veronica."

"You're welcome," Veronica replied, glad to see some of the tension drain from him. Her eyes met his, and she smiled back. 

They stood there in silence for a few moments, looking into each other's eyes. As the silence stretched on, something in the look in Malone's eyes made Veronica feel increasingly warm. Her stomach fluttered nervously, but she couldn't look away. For his part, Malone felt gratitude metamorphose into wonder as he continued to look at the incredible woman before him. She was so beautiful, so understanding

A night wind ruffled through the garden, stirring the arbor vines. The slight noise caused them both to jump, and Veronica stepped away from Malone. "We should get back inside."

"Um, yeah," Malone agreed, aware all the same of a sense of disappointment.

They were just about to re-enter the infirmary when a noise from inside the building told them the room was no longer empty. Crouching down hurriedly, they peeked inside the doorframe.

Seeing who it was, Malone relaxed. He started to rise, but Veronica's hand on his arm kept him still. A moment later he was extremely glad of her caution, as several lizardmen entered the room. He exchanged a quick look with Veronica, knowing without saying a word that they were both thinking the same thing: _This doesn't look good._

*****

"This is a beautiful room," Marguerite gushed as Alman closed the door behind him. She stood in the center of the room and pretended to admire it. Actually the room was rather plain, and its décor suggested that no one actually lived in it. Its most prominent feature was the large bed against one wall, the significance of which did not escape her attention.

"It's nice enough," Alman said dismissively, returning to her side. He traced her collarbone with one thick finger. "You're much nicer," he added suggestively.

Marguerite had no intention of following this dance through to its logical conclusion, and she was rapidly running out of time to change things. It was time to make a move. "Oh! I dropped my bracelet!" She crouched down, both feet flat on the floor and braced for balance, frantically patting the floor with one hand.

"I don't see it." The gladiator stooped over, more interested in the improved view of Marguerite's cleavage than the missing jewelry. He slyly reached down to lift an edge of the skirt that pooled on the floor around her. "Maybe it's hiding under here?"

Marguerite stood up as fast as she could, catching Alman's chin with the top of her head. She couldn't suppress a small cry at the impact. Pain flashed sparks across her vision, but the effect of her calculated collision on Alman was everything she'd hoped. The gladiator slumped to the ground, knocked out cold by the power and the angle of the blow.

"The bigger they are" she muttered to herself, rubbing her head gingerly. "Ow!the harder they are to hide. I wonder if there's enough room under the bed?" Judging that there was, she turned back to the fallen man. A quick check of his pulse showed that he was still alive. She peeled back an eyelid, noting as she did so that his mask had loosened somewhat. She lifted it out of her way, wincing at the ruin revealed underneath, and tossed the carefully worked mask of stiffened leather onto the bed. "Well, you should be out for a while. No wonder you wear the mask. Don't worry, I'll put it back – but after I move you." 

She was about to start dragging the unconscious man towards the bed when she heard a slight noise out in the corridor. Swearing inwardly, she dropped to her knees beside Alman, putting a piteous look on her face while trying to reach for the knife still strapped to her thigh.

The door burst open, and a man clad only in knee-length trousers and sandals came rushing into the room, obviously expecting a fight. At the sight of Marguerite kneeling on the floor next to Alman, he stopped short in stupefaction. Unnoticed, the door swung closed behind him. "Marguerite?"

She'd known who it was the instant he'd entered the room, despite the clothing – or lack thereof – he wore as a 'disguise'. Marguerite's shoulders slumped in relief even as she tried to mask her reaction. "Roxton? About time someone showed up to give me a hand."

He pulled her to her feet, resisting the sudden urge to pull her into his arms. "Are you all right?" Concern quickly came to the fore as he saw her flinch as she nodded. "Where are you hurt? What happened?" He carefully looked her over, searching for any sign of injury, trying not to be distracted by the revealing clothing she wore. He'd seen her in a number of exotic outfits over the years, including the scanty armor of the Amazons, but this ensemble was by far the most alluring. He forced himself to concentrate on her well-being. 

The emotions she saw in his eyes unnerved her. "I'm all right; just a bit of a headache." Reluctantly she shook off his hands, stepping back to the fallen gladiator and seizing one of his arms. "Help me hide him under the bed, will you?"

Roxton eyed her askance but grabbed the man's other arm, averting his eyes from the gladiator's hideously disfigured face. "What happened to him?"

"He picked the wrong dancing partner," Marguerite answered ironically as they dragged the man over to the bed and shoved him underneath the frame. At Roxton's questioning look, she quickly explained how she had knocked the gladiator out.

He shook his head admiringly at her cunning. "Poor fellow never stood a chance, did he?" he joked.

"Nope," Marguerite agreed smugly.

"I'm glad. I kept trying to get near you, but you kept moving around the room with those other two women, and then that fellow grabbed you by the hand and spirited you away. I damn near dropped my tray."

"What?" Marguerite stared at him in astonishment, a vague sense of foreboding fluttering in the back of her mind. "How did you know that? How did you get here? And how did you find me?"

Roxton briefly explained how they'd snuck into the city and learned where she was. "We didn't want you getting into too much trouble on your own, so one of Tribune's followers arranged to try smuggling me into the palace as part of the kitchen help." He grinned. "I was sent up with a number of others to serve canapés, and spotted you doing the social circuit. When I saw you leave, I sneaked out after you." His grin faltered. "I was able to catch up initially, but I lost sight of you at the end. I wasn't sure what room you were in. I must have listened at half the doors in the hall before I heard your voice." He paused, startled by the look of alarm on Marguerite's face. "What?"

"You followed me around the room, and then just left the party when I did?" she asked incredulously. Part of her mind knew that he couldn't have been quite that blatant or she'd have spotted him, but her sense of foreboding was growing stronger by the second. She'd learned long ago to listen to that feeling.

"More or less," Roxton answered, mystified. He opened his mouth to ask what was the matter, then closed it again as Marguerite abruptly raised her head, obviously listening to something. A moment later he heard it too: the sound of doors being opened and closed.

"Quick!" she hissed. "Put on the mask!"

_Mask?_ Roxton glanced around frantically and saw the mask on the bed. Donning it swiftly, he started to turn back towards Marguerite, only to find himself knocked backwards onto the bed, winding up flat on his back with Marguerite straddling him. "Wha? Mmmph!" His startled exclamation was smothered by Marguerite as she kissed him passionately. All his thoughts came crashing to a halt as she seized each of his hands in hers, lightly pinning them to the bed next to his shoulders, and used the grip as leverage as she writhed against him.

Through the sudden thundering of his pulse in his ears, Roxton heard the door to the room open. The mask he wore blocked some of his peripheral vision, but he could see two lizardmen standing on either side of the doorframe. 

Marguerite broke off their kiss to glance at the doorway, inwardly hoping that her skirt was sufficiently draped to hide the fact that Roxton's trousers were still completely on. "Why, Alman, you didn't tell me to expect an audience," she purred, her voice low and sultry and dripping with feigned irritation at the interruption. "I do hope you're not here to call him away. This isn't a good time," she said to the lizards, accentuating her disapproval of the idea with a blatant movement of her hips against Roxton's. She felt the man beneath her tense – in more ways than one.

"Ahno," one of the lizards said, eyeing them appreciatively.

Roxton looked up at Marguerite and then desperately closed his eyes, struggling for some kind of control. The sight of her moving above him, hair wild, clothing disheveled, a look of sensual pleasure vividly apparent on her face – and when had she loosened her hair and partially unhooked her vest? – it was all the stuff of his more vivid fantasies. _Think of something elseanything elseohhh_ His eyes popped open again as he realized that keeping them closed was only heightening the sensations of her movements against him. He stifled a moan. _Oh damn._

From the boredom in his voice, the other lizard was less distracted by the spectacle. Ignoring Marguerite, he addressed the prone 'gladiator'. "One of the human drudges left his post at the reception. We found his tray at the end of the hall. From his behavior at the party, he seemed interested in the female. Have you seen him?"

"No, we haven't seen anyone. We've beenbusy," Marguerite replied breathlessly, with still more suggestive movements.

"So we can see," the first lizard said, now openly leering.

"What about you, Alman? Seen anything?" the other lizard asked.

"No," Roxton snapped briefly, his voice strained. _I hope they don't notice any difference in the voicenot that anyone could sound normal with what she's doing!_

Apparently the lizards didn't notice anything. "C'mon, Fritus. Let's check the rest of the hall. There's no point in trying to talk to humans when they're rutting – not that they're much good for talking anyway," the bored-sounding guard said. 

"They can be an awful lot of fun to watch, though," Fritus replied, not moving.

The other guard yanked on his arm. "Come on. We've still got to find that drudge. With our luck, the half-wit got lost and fell into the latrine."

Grumbling, the two guards left the room. As soon as the door closed behind them, Roxton bucked and twisted underneath Marguerite, bringing her down beside him on the bed and half-pinning her. He stared at her, his breathing uneven. His eyes glinted at her from behind the mask.

Given their intimate proximity, Marguerite couldn't help but know the effect she'd had on him. _Well, and on myself too, but I can't let him see that._ Her whole body was tingling with desire. Embarrassment – a rarely-felt and much-hated emotion – tinged her cheeks with pink, but she kept her voice level and her breathing even, taking refuge in sarcasm. "Show's over, Roxton. You can let me up now. They're gone. No need to keep acting."

"Someone once told me the best acting comes from life," he said hoarsely. He saw her lips part in surprise, but before she could say anything, he covered her mouth with his. 

Rational thought disappeared, vanquished by passion. Lips met, tongues danced, hands found deliciously bare skin just begging to be touched, stroked, and savored. Arms and legs twined around each other, bringing them as close as possible. Someone groaned.

Roxton pulled back, alarmed at the sound. He abruptly remembered that Malone said she'd been injured earlier in the day. "Did I hurt you?"

Marguerite pulled back, alarmed at the sound. Experience told her that particular groan wasn't a sound of pleasure. "Are you all right?"

They blinked at each other in surprise, and only then realized where the sound must have come from – underneath the bed. Marguerite let out a frustrated laugh and rested her forehead against Roxton's shoulder, almost ready to scream. Sanity returned, however unwelcome. "Neither the time nor the place, I think," she said as lightly as she could.

"It's not," Roxton agreed reluctantly, knowing she was right but damning the interruption all the same. He took a little comfort from the fact that she looked as frustrated as he felt, and her breathing was as ragged as his. "One request?"

She raised an eyebrow. "What?"

He debated saying it, but the sure knowledge of what was going to haunt his nights from now on led him to take the risk. "Make sure that outfit comes with us back to the Treehouse?"

He never knew what her reaction to his bold request would have been. The bed beneath them suddenly heaved up, sending them both flying. As entangled as they were, Roxton couldn't control the fall. All of his weight landed on his elbow and shoulder – which landed in the middle of Marguerite's midriff. He didn't need to hear her pained barking cough or see her sudden pallor to know that she'd just had all the wind knocked out of her. He rolled away from her, seeing her reflexively curl into a huddled, helpless ball. He scrambled to his feet to face off with the enraged gladiator rising from the ruins of the bed.

*****

Challenger rubbed his eyes and peered through the microscope again, but the results didn't change. "Fascinating," he muttered to himself. 

A loud noise at the entrance to the infirmary broke his concentration, and he looked up to see several unfriendly-looking lizardmen scowling at him. 

"You!" one of them barked. "What are you doing here?"

_Continued in Round 14_


	12. Round 14

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 14 – DNash**

Challenger was saved from responding by the appearance of Younus.

"He's working for me," the lizard healer said haughtily. He pushed is way to the front of the scene to stand next to the inventor. "What do you want, Captain?" He punched the last word as if it were an insult rather than a title.

The captain of the guard noticed, and his eyes narrowed in response. "Watch your tongue, Younus, or I'll have it cut out."

Younus hissed but made no further comment. The captain eyed Challenger suspiciously before deciding he was of no importance. He continued to address the healer instead. "Lassus is in your infirmary. See to him."

The healer was happy to have an excuse to move the intruders out of his lab. He graciously gestured the group of guards to precede him from the room. "What happened to him?" asked Younus.

Their voices dropped as the lab door shut behind them leaving Challenger once more alone with his experiments. The inventor heaved a sigh of relief. _That was a bit close for comfort,_ he thought.

Out in the infirmary, the conversation continued—with two silent observers hidden in the darkness beyond the door.

"There." The captain pointed to the insensate Lassus who had been dumped unceremoniously onto one of the infirmary cots. Contempt for the lizard in question was clear in his voice as he said, "Damn fool was locked in the women's quarters. We found him there, unconscious. Make sure he's fixed up properly so he's fully aware of what's going on when I discipline him later." He turned to the guards who accompanied him. "Move out." The captain led his team out through the infirmary's main door.

When he was certain they were gone, Younus let out the breath he'd been holding. Malone and Veronica crept cautiously inside at the same moment.

Younus started. "Where did you two come from?"

"The garden," replied Veronica.

Ned was looking at the unconscious lizard. "Looks like Marguerite got a bit of her own back," he said.

Veronica and Younus were equally puzzled, but it was the woman who spoke. "What do you mean?"

"This is the lizard who knocked her out in the cell."

Lassus groaned, eyes opening slowly. Quickly, the two humans ducked out of his line of sight. Younus opened the medicine cabinet and pulled a bottle from one of the shelves. "Just lie still, Lassus," he said solicitously. "You've taken a nasty knock to the head. This will fix you right up." He poured a generous measure of liquid from the bottle to a drinking cup and held it to the other lizard's mouth. Still half-insensible, Lassus drank. Almost immediately he collapsed back onto the cot and began snoring softly.

"What did you give him?" Malone asked, coming closer.

"The same thing I gave you," said Younus, "only much, much more of it." He gave a lipless smile, which was rapidly replaced by a look of concern. "We must check on Challenger. Time is running short."

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing yet, but if the captain happens to mention him to the right people, it is possible he could be recognized. Cantus is well aware of Professor Challenger and his reputation."

Malone and Veronica nodded in understanding. The lizards' desire for gunpowder was all too familiar to the expedition members.

The trio hurried to the lab. Challenger looked up from his microscope just long enough to acknowledge their arrival. "Got rid of that other lot, did you?"

"Yes," answered Younus. "Have you learned anything about the liquid they've been giving the zombies?"

This time the professor's full attention was on his audience. He smiled. "Plenty."

*****

Alman let out a bellow of rage and dove at Roxton. The hunter leapt to one side, barely avoiding the gladiator's long grasp. He rolled on one shoulder and came up across the room, making certain Alman's back was to the recovering Marguerite. Unfortunately, this put him between her and Roxton. Inwardly, he cursed. If only he'd been able to hide his gun somewhere on his person when the lizards had gotten him in here, this fight could be over in a split-second.

Roxton grabbed a broken piece of bed frame and used it to block the fist coming overhand at his head. The board splintered with the impact, and he tossed it to one side as he dove to the other. He took a moment to pull the gladiator's mask from his own face, flinging it at his attacker. Alman swatted it away without a thought, a deep, savage sound coming from his throat.

_My god!_ thought Roxton. _Is he actually growling?_

He was. Roxton dove again, just avoiding a wicked punch aimed directly at his head. This time when he sprang to his feet, he could no longer see Marguerite; she was hidden behind the remains of the shattered bed. Then thoughts of the heiress were pushed aside as Alman rushed him, catching Roxton in the gut and throwing him against the wall. He hit hard and slid to the floor, stars dancing in the blackness that ringed his vision. He fought them down, thinking only of Marguerite and his need to get her out of there safely.

Alman leered down at his adversary, the twisted smile making his scarred visage that much more horrible to behold. Roxton fought his way to his feet, prepared for the next attack.

It never came. Alman froze, both arms lifted overhead for a downward strike. A look of surprise crossed his face, and he fell. Roxton scrambled out of the way of the collapsing behemoth and only then spotted the knife in the gladiator's back. He turned wide, surprised eyes on Marguerite.

"It wasn'tmy first choice," she gasped, still getting her breathing back to normal. "But you and I haveunfinishedbusiness, and I wasn't aboutto let him ruin myplans." She removed the blade from the dead man and quickly cleaned it on a blanket. "Take his vest." Marguerite took a quick glance around the room and grabbed something off the floor, disregarding the twinge in her side in the urgency of the moment.

Her actions went unnoticed as Roxton, seeing the logic in her suggestion, removed the gladiator's leather vest. There was a patch of blood around the gash in the back where the knife had penetrated both the vest and its wearer, but the patch was surprisingly small; Marguerite's aim had been very, very good. Roxton filed this piece of information away for later as he put on the garment. 

Next, he checked the corridor. It was empty for the moment, but he knew it wouldn't last. Even if no one had recognized the noise they'd made for what it was, someone was bound to find Alman's body sooner or later.

"The others are in the lab," the hunter whispered. "Hopefully Challenger's made some progress with the sample Malone got."

"Sample? Who cares about samples?" demanded Marguerite in an equally hushed tone. "We have to get out of here!"

"Not until we stop the zombies." 

Judging it safe, the two slipped out of the room and down the hallway, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the main hall as possible. They made it to the front entrance without incident, but there their luck changed. 

"Damn," muttered Roxton at the sight of the two lizards flanking the wide door. "We need to find another way out."

"Your friends who got you in didn't plan how to get you out again?" Marguerite asked bitterly. "Great. Here." She thrust something into his hands. "Put that on." It was Alman's mask. The hunter quickly donned it while Marguerite took the knife she carried and carefully tucked it through his belt. "Just try to look gladiatorial, and follow my lead."

Giving the hunter no warning whatsoever, Marguerite let out a shrieking laugh and stumbled a few steps toward the guards. Roxton had no choice but to follow her. 

The lizards guarding the door both looked up, startled.

"Oh, Alman!" she gasped giddily. "I knew you were strong, but I had no idea you were so clever, too!" She laughed again.

Putting on a lascivious smile, Roxton moved towards her. He caught her as she stumbled again and nearly fell. The hunter glanced at the dumbfounded guards. "The lady complained of thirst after her dance," he began. "I made sure she was given plenty ofrefreshment."

"You're such a gentleman." Marguerite giggled and leaned into him. She turned glassy eyes on the lizards. "He's kindly offered to escort me back to the women's quarters," she informed them innocently.

The humans were rewarded with lecherous looks from the lizards. The two guards parted, allowing them to pass through the door into the night.

"Ta ta!" the heiress said lightly, waving at them as she and Roxton staggered out.

When they were past the shallow light cast by the torches that framed the palace entrance, Marguerite dropped the act. "All right," she said in an undertone, "where's this lab?"

*****

"I hope you haven't started without us."

Challenger and his companions looked up in surprise as Roxton and Marguerite entered the laboratory. "You're just in time," the inventor said with a smile. "Good to see you're looking well, Marguerite."

"Thank you." Coming from any other member of the group, she would have doubted the motive behind the comment; from Challenger she knew it was sincere. A quick glance around the room was all it took the observant heiress to assess the situation. She was pleased to see Malone, battered and bandaged but still on his feet. She smiled to herself. _He really does have the most amazing ability to survive,_ she thought. If she'd believed in guardian angels, she would have guessed his was due a long vacation in Paris.

Unaware of her thoughts, Malone was thinking in a similar vein. Relief was his first reaction at seeing her whole and alive. Guilt was close behind, and he found he couldn't look her in the eye. Still, she was in better shape than he, and he couldn't help wondering how she always managed to come up smelling like roses. He sniffed the air experimentally. _Literally,_ he realized.

Roxton tossed aside his mask. "What have you found?" he asked.

"This mixture—" Challenger held up a beaker of the strange fluid Malone had collected. "—is a compound of ingredients with some fascinating properties. You recall that Tribune said the lizards shed their skins?"

Those who'd heard this before nodded; Marguerite and Malone simply accepted this new information.

"Yes," confirmed Younus. "Most notably in adolescence, when one is growing quickly."

"Exactly. Well, this compound causes the moulted skin to remain attached to the body."

"That's why their flesh was hanging off them!" exclaimed Veronica. She grimaced a little distastefully at the remembered image.

"That's not all," continued the inventor. "There's also a narcotic element, which seems to make the lizards highly susceptible to another's influence. It confuses their mental pathways and, unable to make their own decisions, they become open to suggestion." 

"Suggestions like kidnapping Marguerite and me," put in Malone bitterly.

The heiress was nonplussed but unsurprised at this news. "I wondered if that wasn't intentional. Good old Tribune. You can always rely on him," she said mirthlessly.

"You're too kind, my darling Marguerite."

Everyone in the lab jumped at the sound of Tribune's voice. Oddly, it was Malone who recovered first. "Is there a reason no one ever locks that door?" he quipped pointedly.

The deposed lizard leader gave him a lipless smile. "You know, it would save everyone a lot of trouble if I simply ate you now."

Malone blanched. Veronica stepped in front of him, her knife ready. She glared fiercely at Tribune.

He hissed disdainfully. "A joke. A joke," he declared. "You humans have no sense of humor." He turned to Marguerite and bowed slightly. "Marguerite, a pleasure as always. You look simply scrumptious this evening."

She returned his bow with a nod and a cold smile. "Tribune. I was just saying how reliable you are. Perhaps I ought to have said 'predictable'."

"You wound me, fair lady," the lizard replied, not in the least perturbed. In fact, he was delighted. He gave her another—longer—appraising look and smiled salaciously, reiterating his earlier comment. "You're looking well. Hmm. Yes. Very well, in fact."

Marguerite ignored his tone and his expression. "That is the consensus, yes. No thanks to you, I might add."

This only caused Tribune to smile even more broadly.

Roxton spoke up, not caring to see their conversation continue. "Challenger, can the effect of the drug be reversed?"

Pleased to have the attention returned to him and his discovery, the inventor said, "I can't say. I don't think the compound is addictive, but there's no telling what sort of consequences its continued use might have."

"All this still doesn't explain the effect your auto-washing tub has on the zombies," put in Malone.

"I believe it has something to do with frequency vibrations."

"What do you mean?" asked Veronica. She had sheathed her knife but was still keeping a wary eye on Tribune; and she maintained her position between the lizard and the reporter.

"Recall the effect it had on Tribune," continued Challenger. "My guess is the vibrations caused by the tub's functioning have a deleterious effect on a lizard's inner ear, probably in a range either too low or too high for humans to detect."

Marguerite turned a condescending look on the deposed emperor. "Oh. Poor Tribune. Did it hurt?" She smiled wickedly at the hiss and bitter glare she received in reply.

Challenger ignored the exchange. "This disrupts their balance, for a start, and appears to severely impair their ability to function."

"While I simply _love_ hearing you talk about me as a laboratory experiment," said Tribune snidely, "I suggest you speak more quickly. It's late, and time is running out. If we wish to strike before sunrise, we must proceed soon."

"No one said anything about striking before sunrise," interjected Roxton. "Why the sudden rush? You've waited this long; what's another day?"

"Have you forgotten everything I've taught you, John? Lizards are not at their best in the early morning—particularly those in Cantus's company. His appetites are best whetted in the dark hours; and that makes for late risers."

Marguerite's expression grew suddenly grim. She thought of Sennia and Eula and the rest of the women "entertaining" Cantus and his court. "Tribune's right," she said, startling everyone. "You haven't seen Cantus. I have. The sooner he's dealt with, the better off everyone on the Plateau will be." She couldn't help getting in one more gibe. "Even if that means putting Tribune back on the throne."

_Continued in Round 15_


	13. Round 15

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 15 – Zakiyah**

It wasn't that simple, of course, but over the next few hours of discussion, argument, and glares, a plan was hammered out. Several other rebellion leaders were hastily gathered for the impromptu war conference, Demitri amongst them. The big man was delighted to see Malone again. His hearty clap on the back nearly sent the tired reporter sprawling, but Ned managed to return the greeting with good grace.

"Who's he?" Veronica asked him, sotto voce. She and Malone were on the periphery of the group, neither of them interested in or suited for this kind of debate.

"One of those who helped smuggle me out of here," Malone replied quietly.

"I like him already," Veronica smiled, then frowned as Malone swayed perceptibly. "Ned, you're exhausted. Come on." She guided him firmly over to one corner of the cluttered workshop, half wishing the conspirators hadn't finally decided to take Malone's advice and lock the door between the laboratory and the infirmary. Given his battered state, Ned really needed a cot, not the stone floor of the lab. _Still, he's so tired right now I doubt he'll notice the difference._ She coaxed him down to a sitting position and sat beside him. "Take a few minutes to rest. They're going to be arguing for a while, and you'll want to be as fresh as possible once we have a plan."

Malone wanted to disagree, but he knew she was right. Wearily, he leaned against the wall, tired to the bone. Squinting blearily, he gestured vaguely in Marguerite's direction. "It's not fair. How does she do it?" he mumbled.

"Do what?" Veronica asked, looking from him to the vehemently-arguing heiress. She grinned appreciatively as Marguerite all-but-openly called Gekus an idiot.

"She should be as tired as I am, but just look at her. She's ready to take them all on." Malone's eyes drifted shut.

Veronica shrugged, a half-rueful smile on her lips. "She's Marguerite – and there's no mistaking the 'argue' in the name."

Malone chuckled sleepily at her sally, but did not open his eyes. _I'll have to remember that one for my journal._

Veronica looked back over at the ongoing debate. Despite her quip, Malone's words had struck a chord. She really didn't know where the dark-haired woman found the stamina to continue on as she was. Marguerite's constant complaining made it easy to forget just how tough a customer she really could be, when it suited her purpose. _Good thing, too. If there's anyone who might be able to keep Tribune in line, it's Marguerite._ She snorted inwardly. _Of course if the situation were any less dire, I'd have to worry about who was keeping Marguerite in line!_ She sighed, aware that her own fatigue was leading her to be less than fair. _She's really not all that bad anymore_, she acknowledged privately. She frowned suddenly as she saw Marguerite's stance falter ever so slightly. The woman never stopped talking, and Veronica doubted anyone else had noticed the subtle shift in balance, but Veronica saw how she casually rested one hand against the laboratory table for support. _Huh. I think Marguerite's more tired than she's letting on. Maybe I should_ The rest of her thought was lost as a warm weight settled against her shoulder. Turning her head, Veronica saw that Malone had slumped over against her, his head resting on her shoulder and threatening to loll forward onto her chest. He was fast asleep, unaware of his precarious balance. Carefully, she reached around and supported him, maneuvering until she had eased his head down onto her lap. He stirred slightly but did not awaken, settling down instead with a contented sigh. She lightly stroked his hair back from his forehead, smiling gently at his sleeping form.

False dawn was brightening the sky by the time everyone agreed on a plan of action. Challenger, Scaldus, Demitri, Veronica, and Malone would take the auto-washing tub to the square just outside the zombie barracks. The humans would activate it and defend it if the zombies were ordered out of their quarters – and Scaldus would provide the "authority" for the humans' presence in the first place. The rest of them would gather up other conspirators and make their way to the palace just after dawn, where Marina's dancers would hopefully be on hand to let them in.

Which left getting word to Marina up to Marguerite, in her guise of one of the dancers straggling back from the party. Gekus assured the plotters that Cantus's revels would be over by now, and that he was quite fastidious about the 'entertainers' leaving once the festivities were done. Tribune was also confident of this, and equally confident that Marina and the dancers would have no trouble getting back into the palace once they knew the conspirators were about to strike. Marguerite could tell they weren't telling her something about the dancers, but fatigue was taking its toll, and she decided she'd find out soon enough. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain and stiffness in her side from when Roxton had landed on her, and watched wearily as the group began to break up in preparations for the upcoming action. _I've had many longer and tougher days during the War. Why am I so tired now?_ A cynical smile touched her lips. _Either I'm out of practice, or I'm getting old!_

A gentle hand touched her shoulder, and Marguerite turned from watching Challenger and Younus lingering in discussion to meet Roxton's serious gaze. "I don't like this," he grumbled quietly. "I should come with you."

Marguerite sighed. "Roxton, we've already discussed this to death. We need to keep this as quiet as possible for as long as we can. A dancing girl returning to the women's quarters is least likely to attract any notice, even less than a lizard guard 'making the rounds'. A dancing girl accompanied by a human slave would attract far more attention – and a dancing girl accompanied by the slave who wandered off from Cantus's little party is just asking for trouble." _Not to mention they'll be combing the area looking for you if Alman's body has been discovered,_ she carefully did not add. _If that's the case, they'll be looking for me as well – but what would a drunk dancing girl know about it? After all, he wore a mask; he called himself Alman; why should I have known any differently?_ She was confident she could brazen it out if she had to.

"I know," he acknowledged, still unhappy about it. He noticed her shivering slightly, and frowned. "You're cold."

"This isn't the warmest outfit imaginable," Marguerite answered sardonically, which was only partially the truth. She always felt cold when she was tired. "I don't know how Veronica manages." She glanced around the room for the jungle girl, then paused as she spotted the blonde sitting in a corner of the room, eyes closed, with Malone's head resting in her lap.

Alerted by the sudden softening of Marguerite's expression, Roxton followed her line of sight and saw their friends. He raised his eyebrows. _Neddy-boy's got the right idea,_ he thought with amusement. "That's one way to keep warm."

"Very snug." Marguerite's tone was dry, but her expression was tolerant and even a shade wistful. She straightened her shoulders. "It's time for me to go." Roxton opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off by placing two fingers against his lips. "I'll see you at the palace. Make sure you get there on time and in one piece. I hate to be kept waiting."

He kissed the fingers pressed to his lips, smiling slightly as she pulled her hand away, unwilling to be distracted from her purpose. "A gentleman's first duty is to always be on time. Be careful, Marguerite."

Marguerite's hand tingled, and she curled the fingers of that hand closed in an unconscious attempt to hold that kiss close. "I always am, John."

He watched her glide from the room, feeling the conflicting tugs of anxiety, resignation, a curious pride in her courage, and other less easily acknowledged emotions seething within him. He heaved a big sigh as the last of her rose-colored skirt fluttered from view, then strode over to Veronica and Malone. Veronica opened her eyes at his approach, looking at him inquiringly.

"Time to rise and shine," he said heartily, crouching down to her eye level. "We've got a tyrant to overthrow this morning."

Veronica nodded and gently shook Malone awake as Roxton filled her in on the few details she hadn't overheard from her corner. The reporter showed a distinct unwillingness to rouse from his restful repose, but eventually his eyes opened. "Huh?" he said intelligently.

"Good morning, Ned," Veronica said welcomingly.

"Nice billet you've got there," Roxton teased, "but it's time to get to work."

Confusion, then comprehension, quickly passed over Malone's face, and he sat up abruptly. "Oh! Um, I must have fallen asleep." He gave Veronica a sheepish look. "Sorry."

"For what? You were tired," Veronica replied, not quite understanding Malone's evident embarrassment.

"I'm better now," Malone said rather incoherently. He looked around the room, still trying to gather his sleep-dulled wits. The room wasn't as crowded as before; several of the conspirators were no longer in evidence. Challenger was crouched by his auto-washing tub, explaining something to a few lizardmen. Malone frowned. "Where did the others go? Where's Marguerite?"

"Off to start the rebellion, and we've got our own parts to play," Roxton answered obliquely.

Malone wasn't reassured by the tense look on Roxton's face. He did his best to concentrate as the others explained what had happened and what was about to happen, but stray thoughts kept wafting through his mind. _Glad Demitri is coming with us. Even gladder I'll be with Veronica. Wonder how Roxton is taking this? I never did get a chance to talk to Marguerite. Hope Roxton and Tribune don't kill each other on the way to the palace. _He mentally shook himself and focused again on what the others were saying. _Hope my not paying better attention right now doesn't kill me!_

*****

Marguerite approached the door to the women's quarters with a sensation of relief. Sneaking away from the infirmary (_Never be seen leaving the site of a conspiracy!_) and then making her way openly from a stable to this courtyard (_The best way not to be noticed is to act like you belong exactly where you are!_) wasn't terribly difficult, but in her exhausted and aching state it wore more heavily on her nerves than it might have done otherwise. _I'll be glad when all this is over,_ she mused. _Assuming we win, that is._ She yawned and covered her mouth with one hand, using the motion to conceal her furtive glance around the area. _Looks clear; no guards, at least none I can see._ Mentally crossing her fingers, she walked the last few steps and opened the door without hesitation.

The scene inside looked reassuringly normal. The main room was lit only by a few lamps, and was understandably desertedexcept for the one prim figure resting on a divan. Marguerite recognized the long blonde hair instantly, even before the sharp eyes opened and speared her with a glance. Marguerite instinctively straightened her posture, ignoring the twinge caused by the sudden change in stance. _Why do I feel I've just been caught sneaking back into boarding school?_

"You're late," Marina said icily. "Close that door."

_Worse than I thought – she reminds me of Sister Francis!_ "Yes, Marina," Marguerite murmured obediently, playing the expected part.

Once the door was closed, Marina's demeanor changed instantly. "Thank goodness. What on earth have you been up to? We've had lizards here twice on your behalf!"

Before Marguerite could answer, one of the doors to the main room opened, and two more figures came rushing into the room, hurrying over to her. "Mara! You're all right!" Sennia reached out and grasped one of Marguerite's hands in hers, while the more exuberant Eula hugged her. Marguerite winced, both in surprise and from the pain the hug caused her aching midriff.

"Not quite all right," Sennia corrected herself, concerned. "Back off, Eula. Let me take a look."

"It's nothing, really," Marguerite demurred, momentarily overwhelmed.

Marina frowned at the two dancers. "'Mara'? You gave her a name?"

Eula shrugged and returned Marina's frown with a challenging glare of her own. "A provisional one, but yes. After all, she danced."

Marina's frown smoothed out. "So she did."

_Great. Just what I need – more talking over my head. I wonder what they're on about now?_ Marguerite thought to herself irritably.

"You're going to have a nasty set of bruises, but nothing's broken," Sennia announced. "What happened?"

Marguerite shook off the others and took a step back. "Listen, we don't have time for this." She hesitated a moment, looking around the room again. "Is it safe to speak?"

Marina nodded, understanding the import of Marguerite's question. "It's safe. I take it there's news?"

"If you can call the fact we need to get into the palace as soon as possible and find a way to let the others in to start the uprising 'news', then yes," Marguerite said with heavy irony.

The leader of the dancers sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes narrowing. "You'd better give me the whole story. Eula, rouse the others, and make sure they wear their practice costumes. Sennia, do what you can for her while Mara explains herself."

Marguerite quickly summarized the events of the last few hours, doing her best to ignore Sennia's ministrations. The dancer's first aid was relatively incomprehensible to Marguerite, but she couldn't deny she felt remarkably better when the cinnamon-haired woman finished. She smiled her thanks, which the dancer acknowledged with a grin and a wave before hurrying off to start her own preparations.

Marina only interrupted Marguerite's account once, when the heiress was glossing over the events with Alman and Roxton. "That explains why those two guards showed up asking about a human drudge who might fancy one of my dancers," she mused. "I guess they haven't found Alman's body yet. As for Lassuswell, he probably got the idea on his own. Go on."

As she was finishing her account of the night's happenings and Tribune's plans, women started filtering into the room. They were all dressed in loose, full-length trousers that sat on the hip, and sleeveless halter vests with much more modest necklines than the one Marguerite wore. Without exception, their hair was severely tied back out of the way. Occasional bits of bright embroidery enlivened the dull black of the outfits slightly, and brightly-colored scarves were tied around each dancer's hips, but these were unmistakably utilitarian garments. If it weren't for the bare torsos and arms, the women might have looked almost workmanlike. Each dancer carried at least one cane in her hand. As Marguerite watched, the dancers started limbering up, stretching and twisting their flexible bodies. Eula grinned at her when she returned, dressed like the rest, and flourished her cane. With a quick twist of the handle, she suddenly withdrew a long blade from the body of the cane and saluted Marguerite and Marina with it before putting it back and reaching down to touch the floor in a long stretch.

_A sword? Dancers ready for a sneak attack on the palace at a moment's notice?_ Marguerite observed the twelve women now in the room for a few moments and then turned to Marina, tired of guessing. "You're much more than dancers, aren't you?"

Marina raised an eyebrow. "Tribune didn't tell you?"

"Evidently not."

"We're his bodyguards." At Marguerite's look of disbelief, Marina continued. "Tribune encountered our civilization during his travels. This was long before he became Emperor. He wisely chose not to try and attack us. When he became Emperor, he returned alone to bargain with our elders for a troupe of guards, all women. He called us 'his secret defense'. Certainly none of the lizards ever suspected us; they all thought Tribune merely liked having human women on display." Marina frowned. "He's going to owe us a great deal of extra compensation when he regains his throne, however. None of this was in our contract."

Marguerite couldn't help herself. She started to laugh. Marina returned her smile. "Since you're now a provisional member of our troupe, I'll have to charge him extra for your assistance."

"Go ahead," Marguerite giggled, "but understand I intend to extract a high price from him on my own. Preferably from his hide."

"Good." Marina's face turned serious once more. "We'll have to find you an outfit if you want to accompany us. We've had dawn practices in Cantus's hall before – it's the only time it's likely to be free – so our approach should not raise any suspicions. Once there, however, things are likely to be dangerous. Do you know how to use a sword?"

"I'm better with a whip," Marguerite admitted.

Marina gave her an odd look, but let it pass. "We'll give you one of the lead-filled canes, then; easier to use and less likely to be turned against you. Are you sure you want to come? You'll be safe enough here, unless all goes wrong."

Marguerite hesitated briefly – the thought of staying and being able to rest was tempting – but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Waiting on events really wasn't her style. _Besides which, if I'm not there, there's no knowing what trouble Roxton and the others are likely to get into._ She met Marina's eyes calmly, answering the unspoken challenge as well as the spoken question. "Of course I'm coming. I wouldn't miss it."

_Continued in Round 16_


	14. Round 16

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 16 – DNash**

Eula spoke up at that moment; she'd been listening to the exchange as she limbered up. "I'll get Mara kitted out," she offered, stepping forward. "Doreta's holding down the fort here in case we need to retreat, so you'll be able to borrow her rehearsal costume just like you borrowed the one you're wearing. Come with me, and you can change clothes."

The thought flitted through Marguerite's mind, _That's going to disappoint John._ She ignored it and followed the blonde dancer to Doreta's room. Once there, she quickly traded her rose-colored garb for the more utilitarian black. The heiress gave Doreta a somewhat apologetic smile as she wove her long hair into a simple braid in imitation of the dancers, saying, "I'm afraid your costume is a little worse for last night's wear."

"Nothing beyond the cosmetic," replied the dancer/bodyguard good-naturedly. "It'll be a snap to fix it right up. And it will give me something constructive to do while I'm stuck here waiting." The last was said with a hint of disappointment; Doreta would much have preferred being in the group going to the palace.

"Ready?" asked Eula, impatient to be off.

"I think so." Marguerite looked around. "Marina said something about a weighted cane?"

"Here." Doreta handed one over to her. "I have two." The woman gave a wink.

Eula grabbed Marguerite's empty hand and pulled her toward the door. "Let's go," she said.

"You're in an awfully big hurry," commented the heiress as they rushed back to the rest of the troupe.

"Of course! We haven't had a good fight outside of practice in _months_. I'm well past ready for a bit of action."

They rejoined the others, and Marina gave them a final appraising look punctuated by a nod of approval. "All right. Move out."

*****

Malone was keeping his eyes peeled. He was useless in helping to carry the auto-washing tub, so he and Veronica were the designated look-outs. Not that there was much to see; the lizards' city was a ghost town at this early hour. Then his eyes caught a flash of movement across the compound. He blinked, wondering if he was asleep again and suddenly dreaming.

"What the hell?" the reporter muttered. About a dozen black-clad figures were walking toward the palace. Malone caught the occasional flash of silver as one or another casually spun a cane over her head or in front of her. _Dancers?_ he wondered. He turned to their escort, asking in an undertone, "Scaldus, what's that?"

Scaldus looked where Malone indicated, then he smiled. "Marguerite has reached Marina. Good. That means they'll be ready when Tribune needs them."

Ned was still lost. What did dancers have to do with Tribune's part of the attack? _I _knew_ I should have paid better attention when everyone was talking!_ he chided himself. Not wanting to give away his ignorance, he nodded knowingly and watched as the women passed almost soundlessly out of sight and, presumably, into the palace.

Their own strange group reached its destination. Demitri and Challenger set the heavy, awkward tub down several yards outside the entrance to the zombie barracks. The door was guarded by a single sleepy lizard. Careful that there were no observers, Scaldus knocked the guard in the head with one heavy fist wrapped securely around the hilt of his knife. Quickly and quietly, he and Demitri opened the barracks door and shoved the insensate lizard inside.

"Shame we can't just lock them all in," said Veronica.

"We have." Scaldus held up a key and winked. "That doesn't mean they won't simply come _through_ the door."

"Hang on!" exclaimed Malone, suddenly remembering. "This place has _two_ doors! What if they go out the other way? And where's the other guard?"

"That won't be a problem," Scaldus said reassuringly.

"Why not?"

"The zombies are conditioned very carefully, down to the smallest fundamentals. If they try to leave at all, they'll come out this door—right over the top of the guard, I might add." 

"And the other guard?" the reporter persisted.

"He's one of us." The lizard raised his voice just enough to carry around the building. "Newton?"

A green-scaled head poked around the corner, and a grin cracked this new lizard's face. "Scaldus! Wondered when you'd show up." He left his post and joined them. "What's that?" he asked, gesturing at the tub.

"I'll explain later."

"So now what?" Veronica asked.

"Now we wait," Challenger answered. He glanced at his pocket-watch. "Shouldn't be too much longer now."

It turned out to be even less time than the inventor had anticipated. A loud chiming rang out in the pre-dawn light. Scaldus, Demitri, and Newton stiffened at the sound. "Alarm," Demitri informed the puzzled humans.

"Alarm?" Challenger pulled his rifle from where it hung across his back, and checked that it was loaded. "The others?"

"No." 

They all listened closely to the deep-voiced bells.

"Escaped slave?" Demitri suggested after a few moments.

"And a dead body," put in Newton.

"Alman." It was Veronica who spoke up. "Remember what Marguerite and Roxton said? The guards must have found Alman."

*****

Tribune turned a cold eye on the hunter. "It seems your activities last night have been discovered."

Roxton's first thought was of Marguerite, disheveled and beautiful as she'd sat astride him the previous night. He forced the image away. _Those aren't the activities Tribune means,_ he told himself. _Besides, it was just an act to fool those lizard guards._ He held firmly to the thought although he knew it wasn't the whole truth. 

Once he'd cleared his mind of the distracting heiress, he realized the full extent of what Tribune had said. His eyes widened. "They've found Alman's body."

"Very good, John."

Roxton ignored the lizardman's tone. He drew his .45. "Then I suggest we pick up the pace, wouldn't you say?"

A single look was all Tribune needed to send the third member of their party ahead. Gekus scurried along the edge of the building they were skirting and peered around the corner.

"Nothing, your excellency," he said, waving them forward.

Almost too late, they realized it was a lie.

"Get down!" shouted Roxton. He shoved Tribune to one side as he dove the opposite way. A crossbow bolt whizzed past, just missing the lizardman's head. Roxton rolled to his knees and fired. The armed lizard guard fell with a satisfying thud. Unfortunately, this opened up the way for the four behind him.

"Gekus, you worm!" snarled Tribune. He leapt at the turncoat but came away empty-handed as Gekus quickly slipped beyond his reach. Oblivious to the bullets flying by, Tribune continued his pursuit.

"Dammit, Tribune!" Roxton snarled as the former emperor ruined his shot. The hunter barely managed to keep from firing and killing him instead of the guard. Roxton felt a brief twinge of regret, but let it pass. Instead, he ducked a poorly aimed bolt and took fresh aim at his own target.

The firefight didn't last long. Having felled the guards, Roxton quickly reloaded his weapon. He looked around for Tribune and saw the lizardman wiping blood from his chin in a disconcertingly dainty fashion. "Thanks for all your help," said John sarcastically.

"When a meal presents itself, a wise lizard always accepts." Tribune smiled.

Roxton fought back a shudder. He caught a glimpse of what was left of Gekus, and quickly turned away. "There'll be more guards here any second. We need to get to the others."

"Agreed."

At that moment, another half-dozen guards appeared at the far end of the narrow street, directly in their path.

"Looks like that's going to be easier said than done," muttered Roxton. He and Tribune exchanged only the briefest of glances before they both charged screaming toward their attackers.

*****

"What do those bells mean?" asked Marguerite quietly. She and Sennia stood at the edge of the dance floor only inches from where the heiress had first encountered the late gladiator, Alman. To a casual observer, they were merely taking a short break and watching the others rehearse a routine.

"They'll be looking for you again. That's assuming they stopped at all last night," the cinnamon-haired dancer replied. "They've found Alman."

Marguerite took a firmer hold on the heavy cane she carried, desperately wishing for a whip or a gun, anything more reassuring than, essentially, a shiny stick.

A sharp noise reached their ears.

"What was that?" demanded Sennia abruptly.

Even muffled by distance and the palace's stone walls, Marguerite recognized the sound easily. "Gunshots," she answered.

*****

The lizards' city was reluctantly coming awake. Indistinct shouts could be heard between the ringing of the alarm bells. The party that surrounded the auto-washing tub tensed. They were sitting ducks should anyone decide they were a threat. Fortunately, no one had yet bothered to question their presence.

A guard appeared and made a beeline toward Scaldus. He was the youngest lizardman Malone had ever seen, and the reporter wondered briefly how he'd managed to avoid being made into a zombie. 

"Scaldus!" the guard cried out. "The Captain is looking for you! What are you doing here? You're needed in the search!"

"What are you talking about, fool?" demanded Scaldus roughly. "The Captain ordered me here to supervise these humans."

"Butbut" The young lizard was at a loss. "But what are they _doing_?"

Malone felt a pang of sympathy for him. His confused expression was one he knew he, himself, had worn during his early days in the Great War. Silently he wished the young lizard luck and survival.

"That's none of your concern!" barked Scaldus, causing the guard to wince and take an involuntary step back. "Now move along! You'll be needed in the search," he added, turning the confused lizard's own words back on him.

"Y-yes, sir!" he stammered and sprinted away.

Demitri stepped close to Scaldus. "They won't all be that easy to get rid of," he murmured.

"I know," was the lizardman's subdued reply.

There was a sudden thudding noise behind them, and as one the group turned. It was coming from the zombie barracks. The heavy door shook with the force of their pounding.

"It won't take them long to get through that," said Challenger. He looked to their guide. "Perhaps you and Newton should make yourselves scarce." 

Newton looked puzzled, and Scaldus shook his head. "Not yet. When the zombies break through, we'll go. Until then, we may still be needed."

The door creaked, its heavy hinges beginning to strain under pressure.

"Go, Scaldus!" insisted Malone. "You've done enough. More than enough!"

Wood began to crack and splinter. Demitri took a firmer grip on his staff; Veronica drew her knife; Challenger double-checked his rifle; even Malone awkwardly drew his gun.

"Go, my friends!" insisted Demitri. "They'll be through any second. You need to get out of the range of this machine, and Tribune will need your help with Cantus."

Reluctantly, Scaldus nodded. "Good luck. Come on, Newton. Let's go." Quickly, the two lizardmen turned and jogged off toward the palace. Their departure was just in time.

The barracks door was torn from its hinges and sent crashing to the ground. Zombies poured through the opening, heading directly at the nearest target—the humans. Challenger aimed and fired at an onrushing zombie. The lizard stumbled back, taking two more down with him. The fallen trio were immediately trampled by those coming behind them.

"Veronica!" shouted the inventor. "Start the tub!"

The blonde woman reached out her empty hand and activated the auto-washing tub. Immediately, the zombies began to shake, gobbets of moulting flesh falling from their convulsing forms. Veronica put her hand up to her mouth, choking back a gag at the foul sight and equally foul smell that accompanied it.

Across the square, a new sound arose. Malone looked to the noise. "We've got more company!" he yelled over the thudding of the tub's mechanisms. Coming toward them was a large, angry-looking group of lizards and humans. "They have gladiators with them!"

"Zombies to the left of us, lizardmen to the right," muttered Challenger, reloading his weapon. "Roxton's going to be sorry he missed this." He raised the gun, aiming at the new threat.

About a hundred feet away, the lizardmen stopped. Clearly the auto-washing tub was having the predicted effect. All were clutching their earholes, and several had fallen to their knees. None continued their approach. Only the gladiators were left.

The explorers and Demitri surrounded the tub, facing attackers on two sides. Malone fired into the crowd of zombies only when it looked like one was going to break through their quivering ranks; he had to conserve his ammunition as he was unable to reload with only one hand. At his side was Veronica, her knife at the ready should any of the zombies somehow get too close in their mad press to exit the barracks. The reporter was resolved not to let anyone get near enough to force her to use her blade. As absurd as he knew it was, in light of the auto-washing tub's effects on the zombies, her own skills as a fighter, and his current infirmity, he was determined to protect her.

Opposite them, Challenger and Demitri faced the gladiators. The inventor felled two with his rifle and then three more with Marguerite's pistol before they were too close. He offered silent thanks to whichever of Tribune's supporters had retrieved the handgun as he quickly tucked it into his belt. Then, using his rifle like a club, he took a fierce swing at the nearest attacker. The man fell hard, knocked senseless.

Another gladiator roared in anger at his compatriot's fall. He swung his heavy mace around over his head and charged the inventor. Challenger ducked, but he needn't have bothered. Quick as a flash, Demitri had put himself between the older man and the gladiator. He landed several blows of his staff against the attacker's gut, then swept the staff around and knocked the man to the ground. A sharp thrust at his head, and the gladiator was as unconscious as his friend.

"Thanks!" exclaimed Challenger.

"My pleasure," Demitri replied with a smile. 

Challenger couldn't be sure, but he suspected the young man was actually enjoying the combat.

"Look out!"

*****

"Look out!" Eula leapt forward, knocking Sennia and Marguerite to the ground. A heavy spear zoomed overhead, passing through the air where Marguerite had stood a split second before. The three landed heavily, and the blonde rolled off her darker-haired targets. She was on her feet and cursing before the others had caught their breath. "Dammit, Salandrious!" she said angrily. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" She glared across the room at the big lizard and his companions.

"That one," the captain of the guard said, pointing a clawed finger at Marguerite, "has killed a gladiator!"

"Her? Don't be ridiculous! She could no more kill a gladiator than I could!"

Eula was stalling, giving the heiress time to recover. Marguerite knew and appreciated it. She took a deep breath and rose, pasting on her most innocent expression. "Me? II don't understand!" she exclaimed, apparently horrified. "I've never done such a thing in my life!"

Eula turned away, offering a hand to Sennia. This effectively put her back to Salandrious and his cronies, hiding the smile she was fighting back. "Oh, she's good," she whispered to her friend as she helped her up. The taller woman nodded in agreement.

"You lie!" The captain was on a tear. He'd had a rotten night, what with one thing and another; he wasn't about to let this dancer get the best of him. "You were seen leaving this room with Alman last night. If it wasn't you who killed him, it was the slave who followed you!"

"Slave?" Now Marguerite adopted an offended look. "How dare you?! I wouldn't be caught dead with a common _slave_!"

"That can be arranged!" the lizardman bellowed. "Seize her!" The two guards who flanked him stepped forward. Not expecting resistance from a group of mere human females, they were unprepared for what happened next.

*****

Roxton smiled to himself. He was on time as he'd promised Marguerite, despite the temporary delay caused by Gekus's treason. They were fortunate the scurrilous lizard had only had a short time to inform anyone of their plans. They'd dealt with this first wave of opposition easily.

Now the hunter peered around the corner of the palace. There was no guard at the door. He glanced back over his shoulder to Tribune. "Looks like Marina got the message," he said in a whisper. The pair crept forward cautiously. After their earlier adventure, neither was prepared to take anything at face value.

Roxton took hold of the door handle and pushed, opening the door enough to look inside. At his shoulder, Tribune stuck his head in, too.

"Where's Marguerite?" wondered Roxton softly. "She was supposed to meet us here."

"I wouldn't worry," answered Tribune. "I'm certain the delectable Marguerite is fine as always." He turned and waved his troops forward. Over two dozen lizardmen and humans approached. Tribune traced a long line in the air indicating the middle of the crowd. "You come with me," he ordered, sweeping his arm to the right. "The rest follow Roxton. We'll meet in the great hall as planned."

Without waiting for a response, he gave Roxton a parting leer and led his group of conspirators to find Cantus.

Roxton looked at Younus, who waited near by. "I have a bad feeling about this. Let's get to the hall."

They made their way quietly down the corridor. As they approached the great hall, they could hear sounds of a struggle. The hunter drew his trusty Webleys and put on a burst of speed, leaving Younus and the others to catch up.

The scene that awaited him wasn't at all what he expected to find. Three lizardmen were neatly trussed and arranged at the foot of Cantus's throne. A closer look showed they were bound and gagged with brightly colored fabric. He looked around for Marguerite. She was difficult to spot, dressed in black as the dancers all were. A flash of regret at her change of costume crossed his face and was quickly replaced by relief and concern. He holstered his guns and approached her at the same time the lizard conspirators charged into the room behind him. They stopped as abruptly as he had at the sight before them, unsure what to make of the situation.

"Marguerite!" Roxton said as he came up to her. "Are you all right? What happened?"

"I'm fine, and just a little excitement," replied the heiress breezily, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. She casually spun a silver cane in one hand. "I promise I'll tell you later."

Younus stepped forward and looked around at the dancers. "Marina?"

"Here, Younus," the fair-haired woman said, coming to meet him. "My troops are ready."

Roxton gave Marguerite a puzzled look which she returned with a too-innocent expression.

Younus smiled at Marina and nodded toward the trussed guards. "So I see," he replied. He took her hand in one of his. "Nicely done." The woman returned his smile with one of her own.

Roxton watched the scene with interest. "Marguerite," he whispered. "D'you see—?"

The heiress cut him off. "Indeed I do," she said with a small smile. "Who would have thought it?"

Marina was still speaking. "Now that you're here, Younus, what is the rest of the plan?"

But the lizard was stayed from answering by the sound of battle—battle that was coming closer. Everyone looked toward the noise.

"The rest of the plan," Younus said loudly to the room, "is to fight!"

"To arms!" shouted Marina, drawing her sword from its camouflaged sheath within her cane. Around the room dancers, men, and lizards all prepared for action.

Roxton's eyes widened. Marguerite almost chuckled, he looked so astounded. "Tribune's secret defense," she informed him. "Didn't he tell you?"

The hunter glanced at her, took in the tiny smile and the twinkle in her eyes. "Not as such," he admitted wryly.

Before either could go on, the fight reached them. Tribune and his troops were in fierce combat with a large number of Cantus's guards. They were being pushed back into the great hall. Or rather, Tribune and his forces were allowing themselves to be pushed back, knowing their allies were waiting for them there. 

Among the fighters, Roxton could make out Scaldus's familiar face. _If he's here,_ he realized, _that means Challenger has activated the auto-washing tub. _ He drew his Webleys once more. For a moment he was torn. The others might need his help, but the immediate threat was here. Keeping Marguerite half shielded from the fray, he asked her, "You've seen Cantus. Is he here?"

Marguerite peered into the seething mass of lizards and humans, trying to spot the ersatz emperor.

She was silent so long, Roxton finally prompted her. "Well?"

The heiress shook her head in dismay. "No."

"What?! You're sure?"

"I'd recognize Cantus anywhere," Marguerite said. She quelled a shudder as she remembered the cold madness in the lizardman's yellow eyes. "He's not here."

*****

_Continued in Round 17_


	15. Round 17

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 17 - Zakiyah**

A sudden shove sent Challenger to his knees just in time. A spiked ball on a chain whizzed by just where his head had been moments earlier. _A weapon right out of the middle agesa morning-star, I think, _he thought dazedly, somewhat bemused by the near-miss.

The thwack of chain hitting wood drew his attention back into focus. After pushing him out of harm's way, Veronica had moved to stand between him and the attacking gladiator, tangling the chain of the morning-star with a discarded spear she wielded like a quarterstaff. With a determined yank, Veronica disarmed the man, and then swiftly dealt him a sharp blow to the middle with the blunt end of the spear. When the man doubled over, Veronica jerked the spear upwards, smacking him solidly in the chin. He fell down, knocked out cold.

"Are you all right?" she asked the scientist hastily, eyeing another approaching warrior. Nearby, Demitri engaged another man, snarling happily as he brought him down.

"I think so," Challenger said cautiously, slowly getting to his feet. His knees were not happy with him. 

"Good. Then get up; there are more of these guys!" She stepped forward and engaged the next fighter, blocking his blows with her spear even as another rushed towards her.

A shot rang out, and Veronica's second attacker crumpled before he could reach her. She swiftly disabled her opponent, then shot a grateful smile back over her shoulder. "Thanks, Ned!"

"Anytime," the reporter answered, then abruptly ducked reflexively as something clattered to the ground nearby. He glanced at the object. "A rock?" Puzzled, he looked back up again just as someone screamed. One of the few remaining attacking gladiators fell to his knees, and then pitched forward onto his face. A slender javelin protruded from his back.

"The lizards – they're attacking!" Veronica cried in warning.

Sure enough, those lizards that had stayed far enough away from the auto-washing tub not to be affected by it were starting to throw anything they could find at the humans and the terrible racketing machine. Most were hurtling rocks, but a few were throwing small, lightweight spears, not caring whether their human allies were in the way. With despairing cries, two of the three remaining attackers turned and fled, running out of the line of fire. The last, a huge man with flaming red hair, roared a battle cry and charged directly for the auto-washing tub, ignoring the rocks and javelins falling around him. Ned shot him moments before he could crash into the machine.

The explorers and Demitri quickly took cover behind the nearby stone columns and, in the case of Ned and Veronica, behind the auto-washing tub itself. Challenger quickly reloaded his rifle and started shooting, while Veronica reloaded Ned's pistol for him, keeping a wary eye out for any more attackers. Nearby, Demitri seethed in helpless impotence; he could not defend his new friends from the lizards' projectiles, and he had no ranged weapon.

"They don't really have the range," Challenger yelled after watching the rocks and javelins strike the ground for a few moments. Most of the thrown objects were landing far short of the explorers and the auto-washing tub. "They're forced to keep too far back to be effective."

"Still, they're getting organized," Veronica shouted back. "That's not good." She handed the pistol back to Malone before continuing. "How long will this tub run without needing to be cranked?"

"I tested the gears and springs when fully wound, and they ran for twenty-three minutes and forty-one seconds," Challenger called, "but that wasn't with the rest of the mechanism engaged. Theoretically, it should run at least that long."

"Theoretically???" Malone bellowed.

"Well, I never got a chance to test it in practice," Challenger huffed.

"Oh that's just great! Now I'm really worried!" Malone nearly shrieked.

"Don't worry about my mechanism," Challenger roared over the din. "It's been less than five minutes since we activated it. Worry instead about the fact that our foes are getting increasingly organized about attacking us – and that someone seems to be taking charge. Someone with a modicum of intelligence."

"So? They still can't get near us," Malone replied shrilly.

Something pinged off the side of the auto-washing tub, and another something shattered against the stone column that sheltered Demitri.

"No, but they can have someone smart enough to call for real ranged weapons," Challenger called in annoyance as they all stared at the shattered remnant of the crossbow bolt.

"Oh boy," Malone muttered to himself as he tried to duck down behind the auto-washing tub as much as possible while still maintaining his ability to fire the pistol. Beside him, Veronica put a reassuring hand on his knee before returning her attention to the attacking lizards. "There's at least six of them with crossbows," she warned.

Malone fired, and one of the lizardmen crumpled. "Make that five," he said with some satisfaction.

"I just hope they don't have any catapults handy," Challenger grumbled to himself before aiming his rifle at one of the remaining bowmen.

"Any chance of reinforcements?" Veronica yelled to Demitri.

"For them, yes. For us, no, none planned - not unless and until the attack on the palace is successful," the big man boomed back.

"Wonderful," Veronica muttered, not raising her voice, so only Malone caught her words. "If we live through this, I really am going to have to speak to Marguerite about her planning skills." She knew it probably wasn't the brunette's fault, but complaining about Marguerite was a well-ingrained habit that never failed to relieve some of her tension.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Malone grinned, but prudently refrained from comment.

*****

"Where the hell could he be?" Roxton wondered, frustrated.

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking" _Now if I were a mad lizard-king, and revolutionaries were attacking my palace, where would I go?_ Marguerite scowled, trying to think it through, uneasily aware of her earlier feelings of being out of her depth with the insane emperor. _I hate trying to guess the actions of madmen!_

"Huh?" Startled, Roxton turned to stare at Marguerite. He'd meant the question rhetorically, not literally – but judging from the look on Marguerite's face, she really was trying to figure out where he might be. _There's no way even Marguerite could knowshe's only been here for a daycould she?_ Before Roxton could muse any further on what Marguerite might have accomplished in the past twenty-four hours – including gaining contact with or insights on the erstwhile emperor – a sudden shift in the pattern of fighting put him on the alert. A knot of struggling fighters was headed directly for them, viciously attacking each other without reserve. "Figure it out later – watch out now!" He stepped between Marguerite and the oncoming tangle, raising his sword defensively against the onrush.

Marguerite abandoned her train of thought and quickly moved to stand at Roxton's side, cane at the ready. Roxton only had time to give the brunette an affectionate, exasperated glare before the onslaught was upon them. The world quickly narrowed into a desperate focus for survival: a step here, a duck there, a quick block followed by a swift strike at an unprotected limb Just identifying friend from foe was nearly impossible. Despite their best efforts, the pair quickly found themselves separated by the flow and momentum of the battle. 

Roxton cursed as Marguerite disappeared behind a wall of battling bodies, her dark hair and dancer's outfit too easily blending in to be distinguishable in the chaos. He struggled to follow her but was hemmed in by the press of bodies. Before he could break loose, he suddenly found himself fighting for his life against three very hostile lizards. One of Tribune's lizard fighters joined him, enabling him to survive the initial encounter, and Roxton was bizarrely reminded of teaming up with Tribune in the gladiator's arena before he was too busy surviving to indulge in memories. 

For her part, Marguerite quickly discovered that her skill with the cane was awkwardly limited in this kind of ferocious close fighting. In her inexperienced hands, the cane was far more effective for blocking opponents and yanking them off-balance than it was for actually injuring or disabling anyone. She concentrated instead on keeping herself in one piece and working her way out of the mess. It took every ounce of agility and concentration she could muster, but she managed to emerge from the tangle of fighting with only a few shallow cuts and a midriff newly reawakened to the fact that it had been badly bruised the night before. Ignoring the discomfort, she tried to find Roxton in the melee, hoping he, too, had made his way out of the thick of the fighting. A familiar voice crying out in pain distracted her, followed by another voice shrieking defiance. She quickly turned and spotted Eula on the ground, clutching a wound in her side, her face twisted in agony. Above her, Sennia was doing her best to fend off two attackers and defend the injured dancer. Even as Marguerite ran to help, she couldn't help but notice that Sennia was nowhere near as good a fighter as her fallen friend. _Bad odds,_ part of her mind warned her even as she moved to block a blow that would otherwise have run the other dancer through.

"WhoMara?" Sennia gasped, only getting a glimpse of Marguerite from the corner of her eye. The cinnamon-haired dancer beat back a sword thrust and slashed open the arm of the attacker with a quick riposte, buying herself a moment's respite. 

"Get out of here!" Eula choked even as she writhed in pain. She picked up her sword again and tried to get up, but only made it to her knees. 

"More fighters on the way," Marguerite warned grimly in reply, seeing an alarming number of lizards heading in their general direction. From what she could judge of their expressions and demeanor, they were not on Tribune's side. _Roxton, where are you? This is not my forte! I could use some help right about nowI hope you're all right!_ Snarling, she rammed the crook of her cane into the crotch of an attacking lizard and wrested the heavy short sword out of his suddenly nerveless grip. Dropping the cane, she ran the lizard through with his own sword and turned to meet the oncoming fighters. Beside her, Sennia still fought off her attacker as best as she could, her slender sword badly outmatched by the lizard's heavier weapon and superior strength. Only the dancer's faster reflexes kept her on her feet and fighting – and she was hindered by the fact that she couldn't move very far in any direction without leaving Eula exposed. _Forget bad odds; bad odds would be an improvement over this!_

The approaching lizards slowed in their charge, appearing to hesitate. Marguerite didn't have time to wonder why, as several lizards and one dancer raced by their position, taking out Sennia's attacker on their way to engaging the oncoming guards. Stunned, Marguerite watched with amazement as Marina carved through two of the attacking lizards in as many seconds, moving with a lithe and deadly grace that cut through the lizard's defenses as easily as her slender sword pierced their bodies. _I never realized anyone could move like that – she must not have a single bone in her body, she's so flexible!_ Marguerite thought, awed. The third lizard Marina engaged actually managed to fend her off for a few moments before he, too, joined his compatriots on the bloodied floor. The leader of the dancers was splashed with blood in half-a-dozen places and sported the start of a large bruise on one arm; her blonde hair was matted with blood; and she was grinning from ear to ear as she moved to engage yet another attacker. Her chosen target visibly edged away from her and into the range of one of her lizard allies, obviously preferring to take his chances with his own kind. 

"Sennia, don't - !" Eula gasped, and Marguerite glanced down to see that Sennia had dropped her sword and now knelt by her friend, heedless of the ongoing fight. 

"Shut up, Eula." The taller dancer's jaw was set in stubborn determination as she pressed both hands over Eula's wound, prying Eula's own hand away as she peered at her side, evaluating the damage.

"Guard them, Mara," Marina snapped, noticing Sennia's actions. The area around Eula, Sennia, and Marguerite was momentarily clear of fighting, so Marguerite nodded and gave Marina a mock salute with her stolen sword. Marina grinned again and plunged back into the fray.

The fighting was dying down all over the room, leaving carnage in its wake, but Marguerite still couldn't spot Roxton. Looking around, she spied a familiar-looking object on the belt of a nearby lizard corpse. Glancing around, she judged it safe to leave Sennia and Eula alone for a few seconds. She quickly scurried over and retrieved the item from the corpse, grimacing as the movement caused her fresh pain. Stepping back to her post, she was both relieved and alarmed to see neither dancer had noticed her momentary departure; Eula's eyes were unfocused, and Sennia was oddly still, totally focused on whatever she was doing to the wound. _They really do need guarding,_ Marguerite thought to herself, inspecting her new acquisition with some satisfaction.

A flicker of familiar color in what remained of the fight caught her eye, and she sighed in relief as she finally caught sight of Roxton. He was rather battered-looking, and his clothes had definitely seen better days, but he was still on his feet and fighting, dispatching a lizard even as she spotted him. A moment later, her sigh of relief caught in her throat as she saw another lizard draw a knife and aim to throw it at Roxton's unprotected back.

CRACK!

Roxton looked over towards the source of the unexpected sound to see a lizard grasping at his throat with both hands as he was yanked backwards, dropping his knife in the effort to stay upright as he stumbled helplessly along. Before the lizard could regain his balance, he was brought face-to-face with the person responsible for his lack of breath and equilibriumand she stabbed him with a short sword without ever losing her grip on her whip handle. A profound sense of relief swept over Roxton as he recognized Marguerite, as much from her deft handling of the whip as from the tendrils of dark curls escaping from her braid. He renewed his efforts to fight free of the remaining battle, determined to get to her and make sure she was all right.

"Wowyou weren't kidding about being good with a whip," Eula's voice came from the floor. Groaning, the dancer got to her feet, her dark-green scarf now wrapped around her waist instead of her hips. "Nice going."

"Thanks. Are you all right?" Marguerite asked, puzzled. "I thought" _I would have sworn that wound looked much more serious than that. Glad I was wrong!_

"Just a flesh wound, fortunately," Sennia said breathlessly from where she still knelt on the floor. The dancer seemed oddly pale to Marguerite, and her lips were pressed together in a thin line. She stood up with an utter lack of grace and nearly staggered into Eula.

_What on earth?_ Marguerite wondered. _Was Sennia injured, too?_

"Marguerite!" 

Marguerite turned from her observation of the two dancers to see Roxton making his way towards her. Blood was trickling down his forehead. Alarmed, she hastened towards him, forgetting all about the dancers' odd behavior. "John? Are you all right?" Reaching up, she tilted his head and examined it anxiously, looking for the source of the bleeding. Fleetingly, Marguerite wished for one of the hip scarves the other dancers wore; it would be useful in wiping away the blood so she could see what was wrong.

"I'm fine, Marguerite. It's just a scratch," Roxton reassured her, a little bemused by her blatant concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm perfectly all right," Marguerite replied dismissively. Standing on tiptoe, she finally was convinced that the bloody scratch near his hairline was the source of the blood – and that it was indeed just a minor cut. Satisfied, she quickly looked the rest of him over, avoiding his tentative attempt to pull her towards him. "You're a bit messy," she scolded weakly.

"Next time I'll be sure to tell the people trying to kill me to be tidier about it," Roxton jibed back. He gently traced one finger just above a cut on Marguerite's arm. "You weren't being very careful, either."

"On the contrary; if I hadn't been very careful, that would have been much worse," Marguerite said haughtily, rapidly recovering her emotional equilibrium. She looked around the room, realizing the fight was over at last. "Looks like we won."

"A meaningless victory, if Cantus escapes," Tribune boomed, coming up to them. "I want him found."

"Doesn't look like he's here," Scaldus called from where he was checking over the wounded and the dead. 

"None of his elite personal guard are here, either," another lizard spoke up from where he, too, was checking over the fallen.

Others also raised their voices, confirming that the emperor was not in the room. Marguerite bit her lip as she realized there were four dancers amongst the casualties, one of them so still she was sure the woman was dead. Sennia was already at the side of one of the others, doing what she could for her stricken companion. Across the room, Younus was doing the same for an injured lizard.

"Where _is_ that misbegotten madman?" Tribune hissed, frustrated.

Marguerite's face went momentarily blank, and then her eyes narrowed dangerously as the answer she'd been searching for earlier popped into her head. "He's gone to his source of power. His creations," she said flatly. "He's gone to summon the zombies."

"Which means Malone, Veronica, and Challenger are in serious danger." Roxton's face was a study in alarm.

"Not for long," Tribune assured him. "Warriors! Form up!"

"Good thinking, Mara. Eula, with me. The rest of you guard our wounded," Marina commanded her dancers as all the able-bodied lizards, with the exception of Younus, hurried to surround their leader.

Tribune's forces swiftly left the palace. Scaldus and Newton led the way, having recently come from the humans and the auto-washing tub. Roxton was right on their heels, concern for his friends driving him onwards, and Marguerite was right behind him, not intending to get separated again. A growing noise in the distance told them that at least the auto-washing tub was still running. 

They rounded a cornerand abruptly found themselves in the midst of another group of lizards. The fact that the other lizards were completely surprised was the only thing that prevented the front portion of Tribune's warriors from being wiped out immediately, allowing the rest of Tribune's forces to catch up. Then the fighting started – fighting that was at least as chaotic and brutal as the worst of the throne room battle. 

Marguerite lashed out repeatedly with her whip, the stinging leather keeping the area around her and Roxton relatively clear of foes. She occasionally snared an enemy closer so she or Roxton could finish him off, but she mostly concentrated on trying to use the whip to keep them both out of the worst of the action. All around her, lizards were fighting and dyingand she couldn't tell who they'd found; just another group of lizards, or Cantus's elite forces?

Perhaps it was fatigue catching up with her, or maybe her injuries just led her to make a miscast; or it might simply have been that her luck ran out at last. Whatever the cause, Marguerite suddenly felt a vicious tug on the lash of her whip as someone seized the end and pulled on it. Like the lizardmen she'd snared before, but in reverse, Marguerite felt herself helplessly yanked forward into the midst of the fight before she could release her grip. A powerful, clawed hand seized her by the throat, hauling her off her feet. She felt the prick of claws digging into her flesh as the hand squeezed tightly, compressing the blood vessels in her neck as her body dangled helplessly. Fire swam in her eyes, and she found herself struggling for breath and consciousness even as she tried to pry the choking grip from her neck. Her eyesight rapidly dimming, all sound of battle drowned out by the sudden thundering of her pulse in her ears, Marguerite hazily made out a pair of mad lizard eyes staring into her own with malicious satisfaction as the world threatened to disappear into the encroaching blackness.

_Continued in Round 18_


	16. Round 18

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 18 - DNash**

"_Marguerite!_" screamed Roxton. 

Tribune spotted Marguerite at the moment of Roxton's cry. The heiress was easy to see, suspended as she was a good two feet above the ground and dangling from the clawed hand of the mad emperor, Cantus.

Heedless of the attackers, both Roxton and Tribune waded through the chaos toward their common goal. The hunter used his rifle as a club any time someone was foolish enough to cross his path. The deposed lizard king clawed through those he could and bit through those who didn't have the sense to fall when they should have.

Marguerite heard and saw nothing of their approach.

Before either could reach her, her captor caught first Roxton's gaze, then Tribune'sand he smiled. Without hesitation, he casually tossed aside the dead weight he held, sending Marguerite's too-still form slamming into the side of large wagon. She hit it with a gut-wrenching thud and collapsed to the ground.

Yellow eyes glowed with madness that was nearly mirrored in Roxton's brown ones. But Cantus wasn't interested in the hunter. His wild glare was locked on Tribune, and Tribune returned it gleefully.

"Cantus! You're mine!" Hissing his fury, he bared his teeth and lunged at the usurper, tackling him to the ground. But both lizards rolled and were up again in an instant. They circled one another, the crowd of fighters giving way around them. The mob calmed to a barely contained tension, all the combatants knowing their actions were unimportant now that their leaders fought hand to hand.

Roxton was oblivious to the fight, oblivious to the audience surrounding it. Every cell of his being was focused on the motionless form of Marguerite. Her neck was swollen, the flushed skin marked with stark white stripes perfectly shaped to each of Cantus' fingers. The lizardman's claws had dug into her flesh just enough to draw blood, which had trickled in tiny red rivulets and dripped into the dusty ground. Slowly, color was returning to the bloodless patches of skin; if she still lived and if she survived, the resulting bruises would undoubtedly be spectacular.

John knelt beside her and reached out a tentative hand. He had to know but was afraid he might find his worst fear realized. Gently, carefully, he took her hand and placed strong fingers against the pulsepoint in Marguerite's wrist.

She was still alive. "Thank God," he whispered. He was about to move her, shift her from her side to her back to make her more comfortable. A sharp feminine voice stopped him.

"Don't." It was Eula. The dancer knelt next to him. "She's alive?"

Roxton nodded.

The fair-haired woman let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Let me see."

But John wasn't about to move. "Why? What—?" he began.

"I'm not asking you to go, just let me see to her for a moment. That's all it'll take."

"Take to do what?" the hunter demanded.

"Dammit! Stop arguing! I need to see how badly she's injured. Now _move_!"

Taken aback by the vehemence of the command, Roxton shifted to the side just enough to allow Eula access to Marguerite.

The dancer placed gentle hands on Marguerite's face and neck. "Windpipe is intact," she muttered. "Good." She continued her examination, running her hands gently down the heiress's limbs and torso, seeking broken bones and more. She hissed in surprised displeasure. "Dammit!" she repeated more softly this time. "We need Sennia."

"Why? What is it?"

"There's a broken rib here," she explained, one feather-light hand on Marguerite's side to show him where she meant. "It's pressing against her lung."

"You can tell that just with a touch?" asked the hunter doubtfully.

Eula gave him a look he couldn't quite interpret. "Call it a knack. But I can't do anything about it. We need Sennia," she said again emphatically. "She should still be in the throne room."

"Then you'd better get her. Fast."

There was a brief, silent battle of wills before Eula understood. He wasn't leaving Marguerite, no matter what. She nodded and rose, surveying the scene. Her eye caught the person she needed. Fortunately she was on the near side of the crowd. A dozen quick steps and she grasped her arm. "Marina, I need you."

The leader of the dancers looked at her questioningly. "What is it?" she asked.

"Mara and her man." Eula pointed to them. "I'm getting Sennia."

Marina nodded knowingly and hurried over to Marguerite and Roxton. She knelt. The hunter barely glanced up to note her arrival.

"She'll be all right," he muttered distractedly. "She has to be."

Marina put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Sennia will be here soon," she reassured him.

Roxton was about to protest that they'd be better off with Younus, the lizard healer, when a gasp from the crowd brought him back from his own world enough to look around. He and Marina glanced up to see the circle of onlookers had backed farther away from the combatants. Those in the nearest ring of spectators were spattered with blood.

John stood, his rifle in both hands. He didn't know what was happening, but he had no intention of allowing anyone to get close to Marguerite. Then, between his height and the thinning of the crowd as it backed up, he saw.

Tribune and Cantus were circling one another, each searching for the weakness in his foe. Clearly Tribune had found at least one; there were deep slashes across Cantus's cheek. The usurper's mad eyes glared angrily from his blood-smeared face. He was hissing. 

Tribune smiled. Roxton recognized the look, and a ghost of that smile was echoed on the hunter's face.

Cantus made his move. He was angry; he was insane. Screeching like a raptor, he leapt at his opponent. The scream was all the warning Tribune needed. A quick side-step, a low duck, a flash of white teeth, and a red swath of blood showered the ground.

Tribune stood, hands and face covered with gore, grinning. He bared his teeth at the crowd; everyone shrank back. The newly reinstated emperor watched them in glee.

He shot one look to Scaldus, which the lizard guard returned with a sharp nod. With a single barked command, his troops took control and the arrests began.

*****

"I am not having a good week," snarled Malone.

Veronica glanced at the reporter. He was certainly looking worse for wear, from the broken elbow to the subtle reminders of his escape in the refuse cart. His face was tight with exhaustion, and dark circles stood out under his blue eyes. "When we get home, I'll fix you a nice hot bath and nice hot meal," promised Veronica. "How does that sound?"

"Assuming we get out of here alive, that sounds wonderful. Add a cup of nice hot coffee, and I'll be forever in your debt."

She favored him with a coy smile. "I'll remember you said that."

The two of them were still crouched behind the racketing auto-washing tub. The assault by the lizards had slowed a bit, only the occasional crossbow bolt reminding them they weren't safe yet. Presumably their attackers were either waiting for reinforcements or a new supply of ammunition. Whatever the reason, they were happy for the respite.

"How are you two doing?" called Challenger from his hiding place behind a stone pillar.

"How do you _think_ we're doing?" Ned muttered, garnering himself a surprised glance from Veronica.

"We're all right so far," the huntress shouted, not taking her eyes of Malone. _He must be miserable,_ she thought._ That comment was almost rude enough to have come from Marguerite._ "Any new ideas about how we're going to get out of this mess?"

"Sadly, I'm still at a loss," the inventor replied regretfully.

"Wait!" said Demitri suddenly. He was peering cautiously around his own stone column. "They appear to be moving away."

He was right. The last of their attackers was backing off. At first, none of the humans could understand why. Then it became clear.

A troop of lizards and humans was approaching, and Scaldus was in the lead. A grin spread across Demitri's face at the sight of his friend. "We've won," he said softly, almost unable to believe it. "We've won!" he shouted.

"Careful!" cried Challenger. "We don't know for certain—" But his cry was too late.

With a whoop of joy, Demitri emerged from his hiding place and ran toward the new arrivals. Challenger saw what was coming, but was unable to stop it. He tried to call out another warning, but Demitri's excitement and the noise of the auto-washing tub combined to make his cries go unheard. 

There was a scuffle in the crowd. Scaldus saw one of Cantus's lizards raise his crossbow, and saw where he was aiming. Lightning-quick, Scaldus was still too slow to stop him. The enemy lizard firedand missed. 

Unlike Demitri, Veronica had heard Challenger's shout and seen what Scaldus had seen. She leapt from behind the tub and launched herself at the man, knocking him to the ground. The crossbow bolt whizzed over them and embedded itself in the tub's gears. The machine let out a noise like a strangled choke before grinding to a painful halt.

"My auto-washing tub!" cried the ginger-haired scientist in dismay. Forgetting his own warnings of seconds ago, he ran to the tub to assess the damage. 

Malone cautiously rose as the older man descended on the invention. A quick look around found Veronica just rising and helping Demitri to his feet. All three looked toward the crowd that was now rapidly approaching them. "I hope that's the good guys," said Malone with trepidation.

"It is, of course," cried Demitri happily. He seemed totally indifferent to the danger he'd so narrowly avoided—until he turned to Veronica and took her hand. "My thanks," he said with great sincerity.

"My pleasure," replied the young woman.

Scaldus reached them then, leaving the corralling of enemy forces to his troops. "Demitri!" he exclaimed.

"Scaldus, my friend!" answered the human. They clasped one another in a fierce hug. "I see you survived well," he added as he stepped back.

"As did you. I'm pleased to see all of you well and whole," the smiling lizardman said to the group. Then his smile abruptly failed. "But not everyone has gone unscathed."

Something in the lizard's tone chilled Veronica's blood. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Marguerite was injured by Cantus."

Even Challenger looked up at this news, his attention wrenched from his damaged machine. He and Malone both joined the small group without hesitation.

"What?! Where is she?" demanded the reporter.

"Come with me. I'll take you to her."

*****

It was difficult to see through the screen of armed dancers, but from where they stood the situation was clear enough to make each explorer's heart skip a beat. 

Roxton sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, Marguerite's head cradled in his lap. Her pale face was drawn and looked small and vulnerable next to the hunter's strong hands. He was running surprisingly gentle fingers through the wisps of dark curls that had escaped the heiress's braid. Beside Marguerite's still form knelt Sennia and Eula. It wasn't clear what the women were doing, but it didn't seem to be much as neither appeared to be moving at all.

Marina stood to one side, her attention focused on the kneeling dancers and the woman they tended. Her features were rigid and tight, her lips pressed into a thin, worried line. Even Tribune was close by, waiting, his soft spot for Marguerite not allowing him to depart until he knew her fate.

"What's going on?" Ned asked under his breath. He wasn't sure why, but he felt hushed tones were called for; the air held the same feeling as that of a library or a cathedral.

No one had an answer for him, so he fell silent. The street around them fell silent as well as the last stragglers moved away to their own tasks and errands. Cantus's body had already been removed to be thrown upon a refuse cart, although other signs of the fight remained. The arrests were complete, and the enemy troops had been led to the dungeons to await their sentence from the newly reinstated emperor. There was no one left but the small group of explorers and their allies, and they could do nothing but wait and wonder.

All at once, Marguerite gasped and her eyes fluttered open. At the same time, Sennia nearly collapsed over her; only Eula's quick reflexes kept her upright. The tall dancer gave her friend a tired but appreciative smile, which the petite blonde returned.

"John?" breathed Marguerite, her voice rough and scratchy.

"Shh," Roxton hushed her gently. "Don't try to talk just yet."

Such advice had never stopped the heiress before, nor would it now. "What?"

The hunter guessed her question. "You were hurt, but you're going to be all right." He glanced up at Sennia and Eula for confirmation, entreaty in his eyes. Eula nodded at him reassuringly; Sennia was too tired to do even that much. "Everyone's here, and we're all safe and sound." He smiled at his friends then back down at Marguerite. "Just lie quiet for a while."

Still, Marguerite wouldn't be silenced. "Did wewin?"

Roxton chuckled. "Yes, Marguerite. We won."

*****

_Concluded in Round 19_


	17. Round 19

**Laundry Day**  
A Round Robin Collaboration/Battle between Zakiyah and DNash

**Standard Disclaimer:** Please see Round 1.  
**Rating:** PG-13

**Round 19 - Zakiyah**

Malone sighed in deep contentment, reclining against the cushioned comfort of the divan in his newly-assigned quarters. It scarcely seemed possible to him now that a few short hours ago, he and his friends had been fighting for their lives. Now here he was, wounds checked and tended by Younus, escorted to an extremely comfortable room by a beautiful (if armed) dancing girl, just resting until he could muster up the energy to proceed to the banquet he'd been told was already in progress. _Maybe I should go see if Veronica's ready to go to the festivities,_ he thought lazily, trying to muster up the energy to move. She'd been escorted to the rooms next to his. _Maybe I willbut first I just want to rest my eyes for a few minutes_ His eyes drifted closed.

Minutes later, Veronica entered Malone's room. "Malone, did you see?" Her voice trailed off as she spotted the reporter, fast asleep on the divan. She quietly approached him and stood by his side, looking him over just to make sure he was okay. The reporter's battered appearance and tired face tugged at her heart. _Poor Ned. He's really had a tough few days. _A slight, unpleasant odor made her nostrils twitch, and she frowned. _There's no way he's up for this 'victory banquet' – and given his choice, I'm sure he'd rather just sleep. But he's going to wake up with a horrible backache if he stays on that divan all night, not to mention feel utterly foul for sleeping in his dirty clothes – and he really should eat something, too._

Nodding to herself in sudden determination, Veronica slipped silently from the room. She had some arrangements to make.

*****

Roxton sat in a chair next to Marguerite's bedside, absently drumming the fingers of one hand on the armrest, keeping watch as the injured heiress slept, propped by so many pillows she was practically sitting upright. He'd carried her here after those two dancers had donewhatever it was they'd done, and the curly-haired blonde had assured him she could be moved. 

He frowned, finally having the time to think over what had happened. The blonde dancer had refused to answer his questions, merely saying that Marguerite would be better off in bed, and that she'd make sure Younus stopped by to tend her. He would have pressed for more information, but Marguerite had still been awake then, and she'd deterred him with a look. Dazed and increasingly unable to speak, he'd guessed she was more interested in getting off of the ground and receiving treatment than in anything else. Shoving his questions to the back of his mind to deal with later, he'd carefully gathered her up, tensing when she hissed in pain. His frantic glare at the dancers was met with an equally aggravated look from the blonde, now supporting most of her taller friend's weight as the two stumbled to their feet. "Yes, she's still hurt and hurting, and no, there's no danger in moving her now – so MOVE," the shorter dancer had snarled.

Once again, he'd put everything else aside and concentrated on carrying Marguerite as carefully as possible back to the palace, following an armed dancer to a set of opulent guest quarters. Unlike most other times when he'd had to carry her after some injury, Marguerite hadn't been able to help support her own weight in any way, and he'd been distressed by how her head lolled limply against his chest. Clearly it was all she could do to remain conscious, and he'd hurried as much as possible, determined to make sure she'd be all right.

Now he had the leisure to wonder what the dancers had actually done, if anything. Younus had put in an appearance not long after he'd tucked Marguerite gently into bed. The heiress's pain-glazed grey eyes had followed the lizard healer as he'd tended her, but she hadn't said a word. Upon examining her throat, the lizard had tsked in a way that bizarrely reminded Roxton of Arthur Summerlee. "Good thing for you Cantus was more interested in revenge and issuing a challenge to Tribune than in killing you," he'd told the silent woman as he laid a light, strongly herby-smelling poultice across her neck.

"What do you mean?" Roxton had growled, both for his own knowledge and because he'd seen the question in Marguerite's face.

Younus had grunted in disgust. "If Cantus had simply wanted her dead, he'd have ripped her throat out and been done with it. You humans are absurdly easy to kill that way. My guess is that as soon as he saw the dancers in the fighting, he deduced how and by whom he'd been betrayed to Tribune. So he used the nearest dancer to vent his rage on, and incidentally issue a challenge to Tribune, if he were anywhere near, which of course he was."

"You mean he didn't mean to kill her?" Roxton had been incredulous, and Marguerite had shivered.

"Oh no, I didn't say that! He meant for her to die, of course. He just wasn't going to make it a quick, painless death. It's fortunate she has a strong neck, and of course the throw wasn't as precise as it could have been, and Sennia" Younus' mouth had abruptly snapped shut as he frowned. "It's a good thing she was available, I suppose."

"Why's that?" The hunter had pounced on the ambiguity in the healer's tone and the opportunity to question someone.

Younus had given him a strange look before averting his eyes in an oddly evasive manner. "She set the rib, of course – and in such a way that it won't shift out of place again. She and Eula are an effective team." The praise had been grudging, and there were obvious issues underlying his gruff tones. "I won't have to wrap it much at all, except to keep the poultices in place to help with the bruising."

"But she will be all right?"

At that, the lizard healer had snapped out of whatever grumpy funk thoughts of the dancers had sent him into, and he'd patted Marguerite's hand reassuringly before giving Roxton a nod. "As long as we keep the swelling down in her neck, she'll be fine." He'd poured some liquid from a small vial into a glass and added water to fill it completely before turning his entire attention to Marguerite. "Now I want you to drink this. I know swallowing is painful, but you need this medicine if we're to avoid any complications. It'll make you sleepy, but I imagine a little sleep right now wouldn't be such a bad thing, eh?"

Marguerite had obediently drunk the bluish-colored liquid, wincing visibly with every swallow but making no sound of protest. Shortly thereafter, her heavily-lashed eyelids had closed over her sleepy eyes. Younus had waited until he was sure she was sleeping properly and that everything was all right before he'd excused himself to tend to other patients, leaving Roxton to watch over Marguerite.

_She'll be fine. They've all said she'll be fine,_ the hunter reminded himself, his fingers still twitching in rhythmic agitation. Despite the fatigue of the past day and a half, nervous tension jittered through his frame, leaving him feeling jumpy and edgy instead of tired. _So why am I still so uneasy?_ His eyes roamed over Marguerite's pale face and resting form again, looking for any clue, any sign that would either justify his continuing worry, or refute it sufficiently to allow him to relax. Some of the lines of pain on her face had smoothed out, now that she had found the surcease of drugged slumber, but she was still too drawn for his liking. She was so quiet

All at once, Roxton sighed and sat back in his chair. _Quiet. That's what's been bothering me. Marguerite hasn't said a word, not since I picked her up and carried her here. I know she was in pain, and normally she would have let me know about it in no uncertain terms – unless it was really bad, in which case she might have tried to keep it to herself. But this time it's just that she really can't talk without making things worse. _He smiled, relaxing further as he finally was able to articulate to himself the source of his anxiety, and reached out to take one of Marguerite's hands in his. "I wonder if you would believe me if I told you I miss the sound of your voice?" he asked the sleeping woman softly, gently stroking the top of her hand with his thumb.

"I'm sure she'd be touched to hear it," a dry, sarcastic voice said from the doorway. In a flash, Roxton dropped Marguerite's hand and whirled to meet the voice, one hand already reaching for his gun. Tribune stood in the doorway, richly dressed in Imperial purple, looking at the two humans with a relatively unreadable expression on his face. His eyes only flickered slightly as he saw Roxton reaching for his weapon, and he coolly continued his thought. "I'm sure we'll all be hearing Marguerite's glorious complaints soon enough. She has quite a way with words, particularly when she's displeased."

"You," Roxton growled in disgust. He left off reaching for his weapon and instead rose from his chair and advanced on the newly reinstated lizard leader. "Outside."

Tribune looked at him in surprise. "Why, John, that's not very perceptive of you. I came to see how you and our dear Marguerite are doing, and to talk to you about a few things. I can hardly do that from the hallway."

"Marguerite's sleeping, and it's better if she remains that way. I don't want you disturbing her. We can talk elsewhere," Roxton rumbled in a low, intense voice.

Tribune glanced once again at the sleeping woman on the bed, then nodded. "I see your point. Outside, then."

The two left the room, Roxton glancing back once more as he left just to reassure himself that Marguerite was still sleeping peacefully. He closed the door carefully, absently noticing the draft from the hallway made the wall hangings in Marguerite's room flutter even in the brief time it took to draw the door to. He didn't want Marguerite being chilled by drafts.

Once the door was fully shut, Roxton turned and looked at Tribune. "So what did you want to talk about, Tribune? Do you need our help for something else?" Roxton didn't indulge in sarcasm often, but he was still on edge.

If Tribune noticed the sarcasm, he gave no sign. "No, I'm not in need of any assistance you could provide at the moment, thank you, although I do need to speak to Challenger about a few things. I simply came by to see how Marguerite was faring, and to check on you. You have everything you need? Marguerite is comfortable? Will you attend the banquet, or should I send a servant with food?"

A bit taken aback at this onslaught of courtesy, Roxton regarded Tribune suspiciously. "Why this sudden anxiety over our welfare, Tribune? You're the one who got us tangled up in all this in the first place!"

Tribune bristled, obviously resenting Roxton's tone. However, instead of snapping a response, he just as quickly deflated, surprising Roxton no end. "I know."

"What?" Roxton was certain he hadn't heard that correctly.

Tribune sneered slightly, but otherwise did not rise to the bait. "I said I know, John. If you must know, I came here to apologize. I never intended for Marguerite to come to harm, or even be in any danger." At Roxton's skeptical look, he amended his statement with a knowing grin. "Well, at least not any more danger than she could handle. After all, she's a remarkable female." He quickly sobered again, toying absently with the cuff of his elegant robe with one clawed hand. "And I did say I would eat whomever was responsible if she were hurt, but unfortunately Cantus's body has already been thrown to the raptors with the rest of the refuse." He straightened and looked Roxton in the eye. "However, since I did promise, and since I am a lizard of my word, I suppose you are due a forfeit."

"A forfeit?" Roxton repeated, stunned. "Such as?"

"Oh, I don't know." Tribune waved a hand in exasperation, profoundly annoyed at having to have this conversation at all, and now the human wanted _him_ to tell him what to claim as forfeit! "Jewels, perhaps – although that's more Marguerite's obsession than yours. Weapons – but you already have a fine collection, not to mention that lovely gunpowder. Maybe a statue in your honor? Something suitably large and heroic, permanently on display here at my capital." 

"Definitely not!" Roxton spluttered, profoundly unsettled at the thought.

Tribune looked disappointed. "Not even with a fountain thrown in for good measure?"

Visions of spouting garden _putti_ – particularly the memory of a truly tasteless fountain on the grounds of Avebury, the legacy of an ancestor with decidedly dubious taste – made Roxton's second demurral even more vehement.

"Very well, no statue," Tribune acknowledged, with a slight grin at the human's discomfort. He sighed dramatically, then looked at Roxton with serious eyes. "Perhaps you'd just like to hit me again, instead. It certainly seemed to help relieve your feelings the last time."

In all their encounters, Roxton could not remember feeling so off-balance with the wily lizard, not even when they were cellmates. He took a deep breath to calm his whirling mind. Thoughts of the lizard's seemingly-careless treatment of all their lives still sparked anger, but recognition of the now-averted threat, and the obvious strides made in the relations between humans and lizards – changes apparently made under Tribune's rule – produced a grudging respect. "No, Tribune. I don't want to hit you – at least not at the moment," he acknowledged dryly. Unbidden, the thought came to his mind: _What would Marguerite do in this situation, with such a favor owed – assuming she didn't want jewels?_

_Hang on to it until it could be used to best advantage,_ he realized after a few seconds. "I'll consider your offer, and let you know when I have decided on a suitable forfeit," he said at last, and had the satisfaction of seeing Tribune wince. "Until I claim my forfeit, I do have one request," he added, starting to enjoy himself.

Tribune looked at him, his yellow eyes wary. "And that would be?"

"The next time you need our help, you ask for it, directly and up front. None of this scheming behind our backs to get us involved."

"My plan worked perfectly," Tribune started to protest, then subsided as Roxton glared at him. "Oh, all right." He shrugged disdainfully. "Not that I'm likely to need your help anyway. I never really needed your help – you were just the most expedient resources to hand. I could have managed without you. I never _need_ anyone."

Roxton shook his head in resignation. "Whatever you say, Tribune. Just remember it should it ever come up." He turned back towards Marguerite's door.

"John, wait a moment," Tribune called him back, a little more loudly than necessary.

Roxton gave him a curious look, wondering what else Tribune could possibly want. "Yes?"

"I'll have some food sent round from the banquet, shall I? Somehow I don't think you're going to attend."

After a moment, Roxton gave him a half-smile. "No. I'll be right here. Thank you," he added politely.

"Of course," Tribune acknowledged. Then he gave the hunter a sly look. "Hm. Not only do I owe you a forfeit, but you've managed to claim a favor as well. You and Marguerite are an even better matched pair than I had thought; you're almost as dangerous as your mate."

Roxton just barely managed to turn his immediate denial into a cough as he realized Tribune was once again baiting him, undoubtedly to salvage his pride. Besides which, he didn't want to give anything away to the cunning lizard. "Yes. Well. Um. Remember that, too."

"Oh I will," Tribune said softly as he watched John return to Marguerite's room and close the door behind him. Once alone in the hallway, he sighed once before turning and walking back down the corridor. _That's one favor repaid, and one distasteful but necessary task taken care of,_ he mused to himself. _I hate acknowledging a debt. One more unpleasant chore, and then I really must put in an appearance at my own banquet._ He shrugged, then gave a hissing laugh filled with irony. "Sometimes I wonder why I even bothered trying to get this job back," he said to no one in particular. "Oh well, an Emperor's work is never done." Nodding to the four guards stationed at the end of the hall, he stopped long enough to give two of them specific instructions and watched in satisfaction as they scurried to do his bidding. _Oh yes,_ he reminded himself as he watched them go. _This is why._

*****

A light touch, but somehow bright, like a spark; and a voice calling her by a name that wasn't hers, but one she could claim nonetheless. Marguerite rose from the depths of her drugged slumber, opening her eyes to see three dancers surrounding her bed. She immediately placed two of them, Marina and Eula, and a moment later the third name popped into her hazy mind: Doreta. She swallowed, trying to wet her dry throat before speaking, then immediately reconsidered it as the simple movement set her entire neck afire with pain.

"Don't try to talk, Mara," Eula cautioned unnecessarily in a low voice. "We're sorry to wake you, but Sennia won't rest until she knows you're not going to need her –" Eula's grimace made it plain what she thought of that "– and it's easier to tell if you're awake. Besides, Marina and Doreta wanted to speak to you privately, and I don't think we're going to get too many chances at that from now on."

Reminded, Marguerite hazily looked around the room, trying to move her head as little as possible. _Where's John?_ she wondered. _He was here when I fell asleep – and it's not like him to leave me alone_

"We kind of arranged a little distraction for your man," Eula interjected, correctly interpreting Marguerite's searching looks. 

"He'll be back in a few moments," Marina confirmed in a reassuring tone. "We don't have much time."

Marguerite frowned, confused. _What's going on here?_ She flinched as Eula placed feather-light fingertips on her abused throat, and shifted slightly so she could see what the blonde dancer was doing. Some time must have passed since she saw her last; the blonde was no longer dirty and sweaty from battle, and wore yet another midriff-baring outfit.

"Now Mara, I want you to swallow once. I know it hurts, but"

The rest of what Eula was saying was lost on Marguerite, as the heiress abruptly realized something. Her throat dried and her grey eyes widened as she stared at Eula's midriff.

Eula's _uninjured_ midriff.

Panicked, Marguerite blinked and stared again, but there was no wound, no sign of any harm greater than a faint pink line, like a scratch, about where she thought Eula had been stabbed. _How long have I been unconscious??? Is this really Eula? If it's been that long and this really is Eula, what's wrong with my throat???_ Her thoughts raced frantically, and her breathing quickened. Already dazed from the drugs – if it was the drugs – Marguerite fought for calm as the edges of her vision started to turn grey.

Startled, Eula yanked her hand away from Marguerite's throat. "Mara, what?"

Marina had also been watching Marguerite's reaction – but unlike Eula, she'd seen what started it. "Mara, it's all right. No, Eula's not injured. That's part of why we're here." She gave Eula an admonishing look, which actually caused the other dancer to flush. Still speaking in a quiet voice, Marina nonetheless injected her next words with a forceful intensity that helped Marguerite to listen. "Sennia healed Eula, there in the throne room. She's our troupe healer; she can heal any of the dancers."

"She shouldn't have used up so much energy on me, not given the situation," Eula muttered. "Other dancers were going to need her."

"You are her chosen sister," Marina said dryly, "and she knew we'd need your skills, too. It's just a good thing Mara here demonstrated the other two virtues necessary to become a full dancer before she got hurt, or we might have lost her."

Marguerite's eyes, already wide from fear, widened still further in incomprehension. Seeing this, Marina sighed and took one of Marguerite's hands in hers.

"We're making a muddle of this, and we don't have time for it. Mara, Sennia healed Eula's wound in the throne room. She also healed you a little after Cantus hurt you; as much as she could, given how drained she was already, and the audience. We'd rather you didn't tell anyone about it, because even though Sennia can only heal the members of our troupe, if the fact she can heal at all became common knowledge, she might be in great danger. We all might be."

Slowly and carefully, Marguerite nodded, but her eyes were still puzzled. She looked from one dancer to another, wanting to ask further questions, but unable to coax any sound from her throat. Her mind was slowly clearing away the drugged haze. _Sennia can only heal dancers? I wonder why? But why could she heal me? Maybe it didn't work – my throat certainly doesn't feel healed_

Marina seemed to understand her puzzlement. "Yes, to us you are a full dancer now, which allowed Sennia to heal you of your most threatening injuries. You became a provisional member when you danced, and when Eula and Sennia chose to sponsor you. You passed the second test – that of courage – when you chose to come with us to fight, instead of remain behind. And you passed the final test when you chose to risk yourself defending others against superior odds, to protect a fallen dancer and our healer." Marina gave Marguerite a small smile. "When I commanded you to guard them, and you did it, that was your acceptance into our number. Even if you weren't aware of it," she added knowingly.

Even if Marguerite could have spoken, she would have been silent, speechless in the face of this utterly unexpected series of revelations. 

"Which is why I am here," Doreta spoke up quietly, her voice sounding strained to Marguerite's ears. Looking at her more closely, she saw the dancer showed signs of recent weeping. "Marina tells me that you are unlikely to stay with us; that you have family and friends of your own, with whom you will return?"

Dumbly, Marguerite flickered her eyelashes in assent, unwilling to move her head again – and grateful that she had a reason not to try and explain the complexities of her relationship with her fellow explorers. Particularly when she wasn't sure she could, even to herself. She ignored Eula placing her hand once again on her throat, concentrating instead on Doreta. 

Doreta nodded. "My sister Geia died in the fighting. I will wear the violet now, in her memory, and forego the rose." She held out a small, well-wrapped package. "If you were staying, you would have a choice of any color not already chosen by one of us; but since there isn't time, I thought you might like to have this, in memory of all." She tucked the package under one of Marguerite's arms and drew the blanket up to hide it from sight, blinking away tears even as she grinned at the stunned woman. "Besides which, you looked great in it."

Deeply touched, Marguerite ignored the pain and nodded her grateful acceptance of the gift.

"Don't do that too much," Eula scolded, taking her hand away from Marguerite's neck before breaking into a grin. "If you behave and take the medicine I'm sure Younus has provided, you should be just fine; the swelling is under control. You're probably not going to be able to speak for a few days, though."

Marguerite's eyes narrowed in outrage, but before she could draw breath to try and voice her discontent, a muffled male voice was heard in the hallway. All three dancers tensed in response.

"That's our cue," Marina said, a hint of regret in her voice. "Remember, Mara, you've earned a place with us. We've time yet on this contract, and I imagine we'll negotiate an extension when the time comes – but even if we should move on, we'll be sure to leave word where to find us, just in case."

Marguerite started to nod again, then stopped as Eula mock-glared at the motion. The three dancers retreated to the wall, pushing aside the wall hangings to reveal a small door. With a graceful wave that seemed more than half a salute, the women disappeared beyond the door, Eula sending a last wink before the tapestries fell back into place.

Marguerite lay quietly, trying to process everything she'd just learned. The effect of whatever Younus had given her still fuzzed her thoughts, but she was now far too keyed up to feel sleepy. Before she could do more than absorb the bare facts, she heard the main door to the room open. She carefully rolled her eyes to see who it was, keeping her head as still as possible. She had no intention of doing anything that might keep her silent a moment longer than necessary.

Roxton entered the room, still shaking his head over Tribune's assumption and what it might mean. Closing the door carefully to avoid waking Marguerite, he turned and immediately noticed his precaution was unnecessary. Two grey eyes regarded him intently, and he felt a pang of remorse because she'd roused alone, in a strange room. "Marguerite? You're awake?" He hurried to her side and took one of her hands in his. "Did we wake you after all? I'm sorry; I shouldn't have left you alone, no matter what Tribune wanted to say."

Marguerite squeezed his hand reassuringly, touched by his concern, and not wanting him to blame himself. _It's okay, John. It wasn't your fault._

Relieved at the understanding he saw in her eyes, he gave her a half-smile. "Younus left some medicine for you to drink, whenever you woke up," he told her quietly. "Do you think you could manage some?"

Marguerite dipped her chin just a fraction and squeezed his hand again. Taking that for a yes, Roxton gave her a broader smile and a gentle squeeze of his own hand in return before releasing her to mix the drops into Marguerite's water glass.

Watching him prepare the medicine, Marguerite noticed how weary John looked. His normally decisive movements were slightly slower, and his hands were a trifle unsteady as he worked the cork out of the small brown bottle. _It's been a long two days for him, too,_ she realized. _And knowing John, he'll try to stay awake all night, just to make sure I'm all right._ The thought warmed her, causing her to smile faintly even as another thought inevitably followed the first. _Always looking out for others, never for himself, silly man. Well, John, not tonight._

"Here we are," Roxton said as he came back to the bed, medicinal glass in hand. He carefully sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted the glass to her lips, ready to provide more support if she needed it. "You need to drink all this."

Marguerite fractionally moved her head from side to side, and pressed her lips together determinedly. Between the movement and the look on her face, her _No_ was as clear as if she'd spoken it aloud.

"What do you mean, no?" Roxton demanded, immediately worried. "Can you not swallow? Do I need to call for Younus?"

Marguerite again shook her head fractionally before patting the bed beside her and giving Roxton a pointed look. He bent nearer, obviously baffled. Wishing she could speak, she mustered a little energy from somewhere and raised one of her hands to his face, ignoring the immediate painful reaction caused by the movement. She gently drew her fingers over his eyes, closing his eyelids, and down his cheek in a light caress before letting her hand fall back to the bed. She patted the bed yet again as he reopened his eyes.

This time Roxton understood, and he shook his head in wonder. "You want me to get some sleep, is that it?" At Marguerite's tiny nod, he shrugged dismissively. "Thank you, but I'm fine" Her tight-lipped glare stopped him in mid-sentence, and he realized the full import of what she was trying to tell him. "You won't drink the medicine until I agree to get some sleep, will you?"

Marguerite smiled slightly in affirmative response, pleased that he understood her, and amused by the exasperated expression on his face. Matching wits with Roxton had her feeling better already, in spite of the ongoing pain.

Roxton stared at Marguerite, lying there on the bed, stubborn as a mule. A stubborn, _silent_ mule. A stubborn, silent, half-dead mule, who wouldn't let him take care of her unless he agreed to get some rest. Fatigue tugged at him, emphasizing her point, and he was torn between the desire to kiss her and the desire to force her to drink her medicine and be done with it. Common sense reasserted itself, and he gave in with a sigh. "Very well." He looked at the bed, momentarily tempted to take her at her 'word' and stretch out beside her. It was certainly more than big enough for two, but he didn't want to risk aggravating her injuries through some unconscious movement. Looking around the room, he gestured at the long, low, padded bench at the end of the bed. "If I agree to lie down there and try to rest, will you agree to drink your medicine and get some more sleep?"

Marguerite gave him a long, considering look before indicating her agreement. _He'll keep his word._

"Then drink up, my dear." Roxton raised the glass to Marguerite's lips again, and this time the overly determined woman slowly sipped the liquid. The pain on her face every time she swallowed made Roxton flinch, but there was little he could do. At last she finished, and he set the glass down before tenderly blotting her lips dry with his handkerchief. "Now get some more rest."

Already slightly heavy-eyed from whatever sedative was in the medicine, Marguerite still managed a credible glare that clearly said _You, too!_

The hunter chuckled, all at once relieved of the anxiety that had shadowed him. _Only Marguerite could manage to argue with someone without the use of her voice – argue and win! She really is going to be all right_. His eyes were drawn back to her when she impatiently snapped her fingers. "No, I haven't forgotten." Rising from his perch on the bed, he walked to the bench. Looking at the distance between it and Marguerite, he impulsively hefted one edge. Finding it relatively lightweight, he quickly moved it to the side of the bed, where he could see her better. Stretching out full-length, he grinned at her. "Not as comfortable as your bed, I'm sure, but not bad."

Marguerite smiled indulgently at him before closing her eyes. Still chuckling, Roxton rested his hands behind his head and did the same. 

*****

"I really ought to wait until I have a decent set of tools," Challenger grumbled to himself as he gently worked the crossbow bolt back and forth, trying to ease it free from the auto-washing tub's gears without causing any more damage. He absently looked around the room, but the richly appointed chambers offered little in the way of useful items, at least from the scientist's point of view. He stopped moving the bolt and instead peered along the shaft as best as he could, shaking his head in dismay at the damage he could already see. The point of the bolt had severed the main spring, and the resultant violent uncoiling had wreaked havoc with the delicate inner workings of his invention. _If it's as bad as I think it is, I'll have to completely dismantle it, craft a new spring, and reassemble it – and I'll probably need to replace at least some of the gearsit might take me longer to fix it than it did to build it in the first place!_ Sadly, he ran a hand along one edge of the tub.

Urgent knocking at his door brought the scientist to his feet. "What is it?" he called.

Two lizards entered the room, looking very flustered. "Excuse me, sir, but His Imperial Majesty has requested your presence in the zombie courtyard. Cantus' creatures are starting to stir."

Challenger gave an agonized look at his still-inoperable invention. "I'm afraid the auto-washing tub isn't working yet," he said, dismayed.

"Hopefully we won't need it," one of the lizard guards volunteered. "So far, all they're doing is sitting there, and of course no one is giving them any orders to attack or anything like that. If nothing changes, they'll just sit there until they die. Emperor Tribune did say that you had made some discoveries about what Cantus did to them – that maybe you could even find a way to help them?" Hope shone in his gold-green eyes, and Challenger was abruptly reminded that the "zombies" were all real lizardmen, with friends and kinsmen – lizardmen these people had thought lost to them through Cantus's madness. There probably wasn't a lizard in the city who didn't know someone who had been turned into an unthinking killing machine. 

"Well, I can certainly try" Challenger started, reluctant to promise anything, afraid of providing false hope. He stopped as an idea suddenly came to him. His eyes widened as he rapidly turned it over in his mind, carefully considering every aspect. Yes, that might possibly work! He paused a moment more, as he thought about what might happen if it didn't work. But he had little choice; he had to try. "Yes. I'll come right away – but we must stop by Younus's laboratory on the way."

"Of course – or I could go fetch anything you might need," the other guard enthused, his whole demeanor showing his excitement. 

"No, no – it will be faster if I go. But I'm sure I'll need you to carry something" The three hurried from the room, Challenger already planning ahead for what he could try and what he might need. If he could save these lizards, he would. 

Behind them, the auto-washing tub lay forgottenby them, but not by others. Within minutes of the scientist's departure, Scaldus and four other lizards entered Challenger's room. Without a word, Scaldus gestured for the others towards the invention. A look of faint regret clouded his scaly features, but he had his orders, and he did not hesitate.

*****

The divan was soft, and Malone was very tired. It was certainly much darker in the room when he next opened his eyes, irresistibly drawn into consciousness by an impossibly familiar scent. _That can't be coffee?_ Blearily, he focused his eyes – and saw Veronica standing at the foot of his divan, a steaming mug held in one hand, a gentle smile on her lovely face. She was wearing a blue dressing-gown type garment that beautifully complimented her eyes, and her blonde hair gleamed richly.

_I must be dreaming,_ Malone promptly decided, but sat up a little anyway. "Veronica?"

"Hi there," the svelte blonde greeted him warmly. "I thought you could use this." Veronica had been delighted to discover the lizards shared Marguerite and Malone's adoration of the bitter brew. She carefully moved the mug back and forth, swirling the hot beverage in its cup, allowing even more of the aroma to diffuse in the air. "You'll have to get up, though."

Briefly, Malone considered just closing his eyes again, but coffee and Veronica won out. Groaning, he levered himself onto his feet, then blinked in puzzlement as Veronica stepped back away from the divan, obviously wanting him to follow her. _Huh?_ "Are we late for the banquet?" he asked in confusion.

"I've already sent our regrets. Tribune won't mind; it's mostly a lizard affair anyway, and of course Roxton and Marguerite won't be there."

Malone nodded in understanding. The last he'd seen of their dark-haired friends, Roxton had been carrying Marguerite towards another set of guest quarters. He had no doubt the hunter was with the injured woman, and that he wouldn't be leaving her side anytime soon. "Challenger?"

"Utterly absorbed with his auto-washing tub, of course. He had it brought to his room so he can assess the damage and keep a close eye on it," Veronica said with dry amusement.

Her words and the image they conjured made Malone chuckle; he had no doubt the ginger-haired inventor was fussing over his invention like a broody hen. Stretching a little, he took a few steps towards Veronica. She edged back just out of reach. "What's going on?" he asked, confused. "Can I have my coffee?" he added plaintively.

"I'll carry it until we get where we're going, and then of course you can have it," Veronica reassured him.

"But where are we going?" Malone wanted to know, still half-convinced this was all a dream. Veronica was being very mysterious, and she had an air of suppressed emotion – excitement? nervousness? – about her that was quite unlike her usual calm demeanor.

Veronica smiled, a smile composed of equal parts mystery, allurement, and amusement. "You never did explore this room very thoroughly, did you Ned?"

"Um, no" Malone admitted. Frankly, he'd been so worn out by the time he'd reached the room that he'd only noticed two things: the bed, which he had virtuously resisted; and the divan, which had quickly claimed him. 

"There's another door here," Veronica pointed out, brushing aside a curtain and revealing a smaller wooden door than the one leading to the corridor.

"Where does it go?" Malone asked, intrigued, but even more puzzled about why Veronica was bringing this up now.

The blonde turned the simple handle and edged open the door a fraction, but did not continue. Instead, she moved aside so Ned could go through first. "Go ahead and see." Behind his back, she nervously chewed on her lip. _What if Ned doesn't like it?_

Really curious now, Malone pushed the door open the rest of the way with one foot and walked through. He stopped, momentarily unable to believe his eyes.

The door opened onto a large, stone-walled room lit only by candles in multi-colored glass holders and a few lanterns hanging from hooks on the walls. A blanket had been laid out on one part of the floor, with several trays filled with appetizing-looking food spread out over it. Cushions were piled nearby, just ready to be arranged and sat on. _A picnic blanket, or meant to be one,_ he realized. What really held his attention, though, was the large, steaming pool sunk in the middle of the room. Water flowed into it from some kind of fountain or faucet, made out of what looked like brass, and shaped like some kind of fish. Bubbles floated on the surface of the water, their lazy course indicating that there was some kind of outflow at the opposite end of the pool from the fountain-head.

After several seconds of stunned silence, Malone found his voice. "Is that what I think it is?"

"A bath," Veronica confirmed, looking over his shoulder, so close he could feel her breath tickling his ear. "I guess lizardmen really like their baths. No wonder Marguerite understands them so well," she joked affectionately. She coaxed him farther into the room, delighted at his look of wondering pleasure as he took in the surroundings. "Most of the guest rooms open on to this, but I checked; the others are all empty." She met his eyes, a mischievous, teasing smile on her lips, a subtle gleam in her soft gaze. "I remembered what you said about a hot bath, a hot meal, and coffee." She handed him the steaming cup.

He shook his head in awe and absently sipped the coffee. "This is amazing." He looked at her standing there, obviously pleased by his reaction. _She must have arranged for all of this!_ "You're amazing." He blushed as his stomach growled loudly, awakened by the smell of the food and the taste of his favorite beverage.

Veronica laughed. "Let's get you something to eat," she teased. "But first, let's get you clean. I think you'll enjoy the food more if you don't have the lingering traces of zombie-odor mingling with your meal."

Malone looked down at himself ruefully. "True." Both he and his clothes were definitely the worse for wear.

Veronica gently took the coffee-cup from his hand and set it down on the picnic blanket before reaching up and starting to unbutton his shirt. Malone's blush returned. "Uh, Veronica, what do you think you're doing?"

"Helping you undress," she said matter-of-factly, willfully suppressing the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. "It's not like you can do this with only one hand – and I'm not going to take any chances with you slipping and hurting that arm even more."

Cheeks scarlet, Malone grasped for words. "But Veronica"

She met his eyes candidly, her face inches from his. "What? I'm just helping you. Besides which," she added with a throaty chuckle, "it's not like we haven't gone bathing together before. And both you and these clothes of yours really do need to be washed."

Malone gulped, then nodded. Reaching up with his one good hand to gently touch her face, he smiled back at her, his cheeks still a little red. "If you're sure"

"I'm sure."

*****

The sky was lightening towards dawn as Challenger finally made his way back to his guest quarters. He winced as his arthritic shoulder twinged, reminding him that he really was getting too old for this. He rotated it gingerly. _Well, all things considered, tonight was well worth a few aches and pains._

As it had turned out, restoring the chemically-altered "zombie" lizardmen had ultimately been simple. _Disgustingly simple,_ he thought to himself, smiling in quiet appreciation of the pun. Knowing that Cantus's chemical fluid was responsible for their suggestive state, Challenger had theorized stripping the zombies of their rotting, foul outer skin and sponging them clean of the narcotic-laced chemical fluid that had accumulated underneath might restore them, or at least start them on the road to recovery. He'd been a little reluctant to try it, just in case it somehow worsened the zombies' condition, but after consulting with a hastily-summoned Younus and several other knowledgeable lizards, Challenger had been reasonably certain it couldn't hurt them even if it failed to help.

One of the guards who had brought him the news had volunteered his zombified brother as the first subject. _I never thought I'd ever be called upon to skin a lizard alive,_ he mused, shuddering at the memory of the stench and the general unpleasantness of the task. Still, it had been surprisingly easy to remove the dead skin, even while wearing thick gloves to protect himself from any direct contact with the chemical. By the time he'd half-finished sponging off the young male lizardman, he'd been starting to show signs of real consciousness, and Challenger had discovered something else. _Freshly-moulted lizardmen are ticklish!_ The hysterical giggling had alarmed the scientist, but the other lizards had quickly reassured him, fascinated by the spontaneous response from one they had considered dead or the next thing to it. By the time Challenger had finished washing him, the former zombie had tears of mirth running down his facebut he'd also been chortling his brother's name, and pleading with Challenger to stop. The young lizard guard had also been in tears, but his were tears of joy.

Inspired by the success, humans and lizards alike had turned to skinning zombies, but it had quickly turned out that even with gloves and protective clothing, lizardmen were far too susceptible to direct contact with Cantus's chemical to be able to assist in the task. So Challenger and about thirty human volunteers had spent the night freeing the zombies from their putrefying prisons. Not all zombies showed such immediate and marked improvement as the first, but Challenger felt confident that all would recover in time.

_Not a bad night's work, for all that my clothes will never be the same,_ Challenger thought, looking down at his spattered and stained garments, and trying not to breathe too deeply. _I hope I'll at least be able to get the smell out before we go home, or I'll have to acquire new clothes – or go home naked!_ He sighed deeply as the door to his room came into view. _That other guard said something about baths being available at all hours – I could certainly use one, followed by a nice long sleep._

He entered the room, weariness rapidly taking over. Something seemed different somehow; and he blearily looked around, trying to figure out what it was. Moments later all thoughts of fatigue, stench, clothes, and baths fled his mind as he raised his voice in an outraged howl that could be heard all around the palace. "WHERE IS MY AUTO-WASHING TUB???"

*****

"I still can't believe Tribune had the gall to confiscate my auto-washing tub," Challenger complained indignantly. "What unmitigated arrogance – and after all we did for him!"

It was two days after the final battle that had restored Tribune to his throne and put an end to Cantus's madness, and the explorers were at last on their way back to their Treehouse home. They rode together in a large wagon, Roxton controlling the reins of the huge draft horse with a sure hand, Challenger sitting alongside, and Marguerite and Malone carefully cushioned on beds of hay and blankets in the wagon bed. Only Veronica chose to walk; although she would never admit it, she found moving vehicles like the wagon always upset her stomach. Another, heavily-laden wagon of equal size followed them a short distance behind. The explorers could faintly hear Demitri and Scaldus bantering back and forth as the human guided the horse. Scaldus would drive the other wagon back to Tribune's city after the explorers reached home, and from the tone of things, it sounded as if Demitri had his doubts about his ability to do so.

Roxton glanced down from his perch on the driver's bench of the wagon to Veronica, striding alongside. The athletic blonde was having no trouble keeping up with the slow pace of the heavy wagon, and she and Roxton exchanged a rueful glance. They'd both heard the same thing from Challenger almost non-stop since he'd discovered the theft. "It was certainly underhanded of him, but look at it this way, old boy," Roxton said, trying to get his friend to calm down a little. "To Tribune, that washing tub was nothing more or less than a weapon against him and his kind. It's hardly surprising he took steps to gain possession of it. Frankly, I'm relieved he didn't try to confiscate you, too."

Challenger snorted, unappeased. "I'd have liked to see him try."

"Are you saying you can't build another one, George?" Roxton asked the question he'd been wondering ever since Tribune's duplicity had been revealed, but hadn't dared to ask while still in the lizard's jurisdiction.

"Well of course I could build another one – but it wouldn't necessarily be exactly the same," Challenger replied snappishly. "I have no factual knowledge about what really caused the lizards to have such trouble with the auto-washing tub; what exact frequency caused the reaction. I had planned to run a series of tests, once I'd had it working again, in order to determine precisely what was affecting them. Without that knowledge, I might never be able to duplicate the effect."

"So the lizards have control of the only weapon we know of that can affect them en masse," Roxton concluded.

"Hah. They have a collection of broken parts and a large basin. I seriously doubt any of them will ever be able to fix it. Certainly not without my help," Challenger scoffed.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't mention that to Tribune," Roxton laughed.

After a moment, the scientist's lips turned upward in the first smile they'd seen on him in days. "He never did think to ask about that." Imagining the lizard Emperor's frustration and fury in the weeks to come, his smile turned into a chuckle.

"And think of all the goods we received in return," Malone added, trying to encourage the scientist's improved mood. "Between what we were able to claim in exchange for the machine, and the reward for helping Tribune back to his throne, and the recompense for each zombie-lizard life you saved, we gained enough supplies to restock the Treehouse, and then some. Not to mention all that new apparatus for your laboratory." _And paper for me, and dishes and crockery for the Treehouse, and leather, fabric, spices, dried goods, metal ingotswhat a haul!_

Challenger beamed, thinking of all the new glassware. "Thanks to Marguerite," he acknowledged gracefully with a nod in the heiress's direction. "It never would have occurred to me to ask – and for a woman without a voice, you are certainly a shrewd negotiator."

Marguerite smiled and waved a hand in acknowledgment, tilting her head slightly towards first Malone, then Roxton, who between the two of them had done most of the verbal bargaining with her silent assistance. Although she could speak a little now, it was still too painful to do so unless absolutely necessary. Her throat was a spectacular mottling of purplish-black, only partially hidden by the gauzy, glittering scarf she'd pulled from their new textiles to help conceal the bruising.

"That she is," Roxton acknowledged with a rueful glance at Marguerite before turning to Challenger. "It's just too bad she couldn't negotiate you another set of clothes," he added with a pointed sniff.

Challenger wrinkled his nose in agreement. "I had them washed twice, but I'm afraid the compound has left a permanent and malodorous legacy, at least on these garments," he admitted. He turned back to look curiously at Malone. "You, however, seem to have rid yourself and your clothes from the smell. Did you have them washed in something special?"

Unaccountably, Malone's cheeks turned a little pink. "Um, it must have been mostly the traces from the refuse cart," he suggested.

Challenger nodded. "Equally unpleasant, but apparently easier to get rid of," he acknowledged thoughtfully. Absorbed in his momentary musings on the durability of certain smells, he missed the look that passed between Veronica and Malone. "Well, I'll just have to change into clean clothes as soon as we get back to the Treehouse."

All at once, Marguerite groaned, causing the others to look at her in alarm. Her pained expression was not reassuring.

"What is it, Marguerite?" Veronica exclaimed.

"Are you hurt? Is the wagon ride too rough?" Roxton pulled on the reins, slowing the wagon to a halt.

Marguerite shook her head carefully, took a deep breath, and articulated two words. "No. Laundry!"

"What?" Veronica's eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh no," she moaned, thinking of the piles of dirty clothes, still unwashed, from their interrupted laundry session.

"What do you mean, Marguerite?" Challenger asked anxiously, not understanding.

"I think she means that if you want to change into clean clothes, we're going to have to do the laundry first," Roxton explained, thinking regretfully of the mass of wet, clean clothes they had hurriedly dumped out of the auto-washing tub before setting off with Tribune. He winced as he thought of what those clothes must smell like now, left in a wet, mildewing heap for days in the middle of the great room. "Between the clothes that didn't get washed, and the clothes we didn't hang up to dry, I doubt you have a set of clean clothes to change into."

"Oh dear. And we have no auto-washing tub to help us, either!" Challenger's face clearly showed his chagrin.

"I guess it's back to chores as normal," Veronica replied, privately thinking there might be some benefit to the loss of Challenger's invention after all. "Once we get the wagons unloaded, we'll have to do laundry immediately. We should have time to manage at least one set of dry, clean clothes for each of us by nightfall." Seeing Marguerite's dismayed look, she took pity on the injured woman. "Not you, Marguerite. You're in no shape to do laundry today. Nor you, Ned."

"Hey, aside from the arm, I'm fine. I might not be able to do laundry, but I can at least keep watch," the reporter protested.

"True," Veronica smiled at him, appreciating his willingness to do whatever he could to help.

Challenger sighed. "I guess I can help you scrub, Veronica," he volunteered, knowing that was usually Marguerite's job.

"And I'll bring the dirty clothes to the pond, and wring and hang the clean ones to dry," Roxton added. He glanced back over his shoulder at Marguerite. "Which leaves you to supervise from the balcony."

Marguerite grinned at all of them. "Perfect," she croaked, and watched them laugh.

_** ** Finis!!! ** **_


End file.
